


Winter's Gift

by Littlefeather



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Race Changes, Alternate Universe - Western, Arranged Marriage, Bronnery, Canon-Typical Violence, Culture Shock, F/M, Family Drama, Friends to Lovers, Native American Character(s), Romance, Sansan Appreciation Week, era typical violence, sansan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-06
Updated: 2018-03-05
Packaged: 2018-03-10 16:55:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 40
Words: 128,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3297656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Littlefeather/pseuds/Littlefeather
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Circa 1860, Lakota Sioux warrior Sandor Three Hounds and his brother, Bronn Blackwater discover English immigrant settlers Sansa Stark and Margaery Tyrell alone on the plains after a Pawnee attack on their wagon train. </p><p>Please be aware that as a member of the Lakota nation, I have taken the utmost care in writing this story in a respectful, sensitive manner. This means that there are some historically accurate yet morally questionable behavior portrayed here, but I warn for it as use and asterisk (*) for people who want to skip it. </p><p>I have included many explanations of the cultural and religious history of the Lakota people as well as translations of the language. This story is loosely based on an experience in my own family history.  </p><p>If you have any questions, please do not hesitate to drop me a note in the comments and I will respond ASAP. :D</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Three Hounds and Black Water

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that I understand the Pawnee historically suffered very badly at the hands of the Lakota and it is not my intention to make them “the bad guys” in this story; the events presented in this story are merely a reflection of the differences in the way various tribes (and the individuals, including their chiefs within them) reacted to the invasion of white settlers on their lands. It is not my intention to romanticize white settlers taken captive but to present the development of this story in a respectful, accurate manner to all tribes mentioned within. Loosely based on the experience of my great uncle's family.
> 
> Dear readers, please feel free to reach out to me if you discover inaccuracies-I am always up for learning and will gladly correct my story accordingly. I’ve included translations of Lakota words in italics.
> 
> Special thanks go out to my second cousin Trevor Running Bear for his patience, advice and help.
> 
> Fabulous art by ruebella-b

                                                                          

Staring out over the bluff, Sandor Three Hounds scanned the horizon carefully. The red sun cast a rosy blush over the prairie lands. He drew a deep breath, savoring the cool air after the long journey they had made into the hunting grounds.  _Rain is coming_.

His party had yet to find game, which had grown scarce on the prairie now that the wagon trains of the  _wasicu_  flooded the plains and scattered the wildlife. Quietly Bronn Blackwater maneuvered his horse beside him, watching him closely as he did so. Sandor and Bronn’s father had taken white wives and thus the men carried given names from both worlds.

“Brother, what did you find?”

“Wasicu,” he grinned at Sandor.

 _Whites_. Sandor groaned inwardly.

“Settlers, I believe. I found a woman, a man and their sons. They met the Pawnee welcome party over by the Platte.” Bronn laughed at his own joke. “And there are five more along the river bank. The whites do not act with sense. The man didn’t even pull his rifle." He handed it to Sandor. "It is a fine weapon.”

His half-brother’s sense of humor did not set well with Sandor, but he knew he took after his white mother, Smiles A Lot. As a young girl, she and Sandor’s mother Grey Owl had been found wandering on the prairie by their father, Chief Standing Bear, after the Pawnee had raided their caravan and killed their parents. He had taken them back to the tribe and into his tipi and thus they were married to him.

“They were probably lost,” Sandor shook his head with a frown. “Not unlike our great parents and yet you smile. I do not understand you.”

The old women had told Sandor the story when he was a boy, and how, after much suffering, eventually Grey Owl was accepted just as Bronn’s mother had been. Yet while Bronn did not harbor anger over the wrongs done to his family, Sandor could not help but do so from a very early age.

“Older brother, do not bring up the past,” Bronn shrugged. “White Buffalo has warned you about holding on to your anger.”

It was true, the medicine woman had many times tried to make him see the error of his ways, but the young man could not forget what the Pawnee had done to his family or that his mother had been mistreated by the Lakota at first.

Not long after Grey Owl arrived, the largest man in the tribe, Mountain that Rides, would beat her terribly just for the sport of it. From an early age Sandor raged inwardly that she bore many scars on her arms and legs because of him.

Though such beatings ended the day Standing Bear took her to wife, Sandor still bided his time with the man. At twelve years old, he had driven his war lance through Mountain that Rides while he cooked over an open fire. It took all his strength, and Sandor had been lucky that the weapon went through the huge warrior’s heart, though his face had been burned badly in the short struggle.

White Buffalo had made strong medicine for him, praying and treating his wounds night and day, and not only had Sandor survived, he grew far bigger than any other man in the tribe. The old people saw it as a sign that Sandor had powerful medicine and let him be, and from that day until manhood he was known as Appanoose, Chief When a Child.

As a man grown, Sandor did not care to keep the name given to him because of his killing, and so later he took the name Sandor Three Hounds, using both the names his mother and father had called him. His ferocity in battle earned him many names of honor, but Sandor preferred his given names.

Soon his father would return to the Great Spirit, and often he reminded Sandor that he needed to think as a chief, not react out of anger. He had chosen Sandor because he was the most respected warrior in the tribe, and also he was older than Bronn. No one had argued, for Sandor had a full necklace of grizzly claws and stood a head taller than any other man in the tribe.

After hearing his father’s words, Sandor began thinking on the future of his people more and more, as well as how the actions of his people would affect their survival. He wondered how many white children who survived Pawnee raids would harbor the same anger as he had, and if they did, how many would seek revenge as he had done.

The sound of Bronn’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. “We found them over the ridge. The woman had red hair, kissed by fire. The Pawnee started to take her scalp but Running Wolf chased them off.”

Disgusted, Sandor spat in the dust, for he hated the practice. “Have the men gone through the whites’ belongings?”

“They had white man’s clothes, combs and the utensils. Much food, mostly flour and grain, but plenty to see us through a few weeks. Many Arrows was the luckiest. He found a few pouches of gold and a good rifle. Come and see.”

Sandor turned his horse toward the wagon tracks leading to the remains of the settlers. “Where there are ten wasicu travelling in open country, there are sure to be more.”

Sound travelled far on the open prairie, and so he strained his ears, hoping to catch the creaking of a wagon or the jingling of the reins the whites insisted using on their horses in the distance.

“None are close enough to hear. Wasicu don’t have the sense to be quiet when travelling in country not their own. That is why the Pawnee come upon them so easily. Besides we would smell them if there were more,” Bronn joked. “None of the ones I have come across ever bathe.”

It was true, for Sandor believed there were no fouler smelling men than the white buffalo hunters who dared venture into the tribe to trade guns for hides. Wrinkling his nose, Sandor nodded.

“Quiet. My ears are hurting.” He wanted silence as he mulled over the situation and his men respectfully remained quiet. Sandor knew they had to leave the area quickly, for it would make little difference to the whites that it was the Pawnee who were responsible for the attack, not the Lakota, and if they made it to the soldier fort, the outcome would be very bad for his people.

 _The whites only see skin color, my son._  His mother’s words returned to him. _You must always be careful in their country, even though you are as much white as you are Lakota._  She had taught him how to make the white talk, and he in turn taught Bronn, who remembered more of it than he did. Whenever Sandor and Bronn travelled alone they would practice the sounds, for it honored Sandor’s mother and over the years it proved useful to know the words.

When the buffalo hunters with the cavalrymen found his mother mourning over their sister near the great red leafed tree, they stole her away from the people. At his mother’s urging, Sandor had remained hidden, but he could still hear their hateful words in his ears.  _Whore. Savage. Red Witch._

He translated them to his father, who then gathered a great war party to search for his wife, the largest the Lakota had ever seen. They found the cavalrymen and buffalo hunters in the meadow by the water, exactly where Sandor had heard them say they would take her.

But they reached Grey Owl too late. Sandor discovered his mother’s body, broken and bleeding and uncovered in the yellow grass of autumn. Blinded by rage, he had taken the scalps of the men he had seen abduct her, but it did nothing to assuage his grief.

Ever since that day, Sandor vowed to make war on all white men who dared cross his path. Still, it was a delicate matter, making war on a few whites when there were more in the area. And they were not in their home territory, and Sandor had no intention of making war in country not his own.

“Where there are ten there are bound to be more. We must not stay longer than necessary. We should burn the wagon and cover the bodies with rocks so other whites will not find them.”

“Should we not kill whites who enter our lands?” Spotted Tail asked.

“But we are not in our lands.“ Sandor finally announced. “Leave them to the Pawnee.”

“I knew you would say this. I already covered them,” Bronn quietly said, “and the men stripped the wagon for firewood. The Pawnee arrows are still in the bodies.”

“Wasicu don’t read arrows.” Sandor got down from his horse and inspected the scene, waving his hand over the grass. “Brother, come look at the way the grass lies down opposite the wind. Someone got away.”

“You are right,” Bronn nodded as he too waved his hand over the pulped down vegetation. “Must be more whites, Sandor, for none of the people would be foolish enough to walk against the grass.”

Just then Black Elk trotted over to them. “Three Hounds, we will go back when you are ready.”

“Go ahead,” Sandor squatted down, studying a flattened patch of grass leading into the trees. “I want to follow this trail for a while.”

“Are you on the trail of a deer? A bear?”

Sandor did not answer.

Bronn squinted at him. “I will follow you, brother.”

Wordlessly Sandor assented, then pointed toward a stand of young alders. Nodding, Bronn followed him on foot, the two men quietly approaching from opposite sides.

Among the golden leaves, Sandor glimpsed a red haired young woman hugging her knees to her chest. Beside her a yellow haired woman who appeared several years older cowered deeper into the brush.

Kneeling down, Sandor parted the thin branches with his hands and was startled to see deep blue eyes staring back at him.

“We…not hurt…you. Come…out to me.” He held out his hand. “Rain…will… come night. You…come now.”

The girl with the red hair’s clothing was torn. Sandor noticed she was bleeding from gashes at her throat and stomach. Cautiously she began to extend her hand to him. Gently he lifted the branches to make room for her, speaking softly to her as he would a frightened horse.

A loud crack of thunder shook the plains. Sandor knew they had to leave now and yet he wanted to earn her trust; he thought of his mother, how she must have felt when she was taken, and Sandor’s words caught in his throat. It would not do to snatch her up.

“We will be caught out in the open if we do not leave now!” Bronn shouted in Lakota. The yellow haired girl shrieked as Bronn grabbed her up in his arms, his brother obviously sharing none of the reservations Sandor felt.

Glancing wildly between the men, the red haired girl’s cheeks flushed angrily as she retreated back into her hiding place. “No! No!”

Both Bronn and Sandor looked at each other, for they recognized the word. Frowning, Sandor grabbed on to her pale arm. “Yes, now. We go.” With one swift move, he hoisted her up on to the horse and settled her in front of him before giving his horse a sharp kick in the flank.


	2. Little Bird

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oftentimes Lakota captives would be given to members of the tribe who had lost loved ones in battle, or who had young children and wives who had died. This was the case with my great uncle's 3x great grandmother; she was given to Running Bear as wife to take the place of his wife and infant son who had died during an especially bitter winter. 
> 
> Some tribes did torture and mistreat captives as a form of revenge but such was not often the case with Lakota for one simple reason: a captive woman belonged to the first man who touched her, and he became her protector. Those who were taken as wives were treated as a member of the family. Of course, this varied according to bands and depended upon the individuals as well, but the rumored widespread mistreatment of captives is based less on fact and more on propaganda.

Sansa began shaking the moment the first arrow pierced the canvas of the wagon and had not been able to still herself since.  The terror she experienced rendered her unable to speak, unable to scream, unable to cry; it all happened so fast she could hardly process it.

Somehow, her father had separated them from the main party during the attack. She and Margaery had managed to escape as her father, mother and brothers fought them off, only to be mercilessly picked off by the mohawked warriors who tracked them. They ran as far as they could until they reached the river, finally taking shelter in the alder stand. Sansa thought they were well hidden, but it did not take long for them to be found and taken by two other Indian men.

After hearing the promise of gold and free land, the Starks had sold their belongings to make the journey from England. They had crossed the ocean to come to the United States, and the sea had been so rough that the family felt fortunate to have survived it. No one had warned them that the real danger laid among the native peoples and that if they wanted to take the land, they would have to fight for it. Whatever made their family think it would be an easy thing, making a life and reaping wealth on the American frontier? It all seemed so ridiculous to her now, and the irony burned bitter as bile in her throat.

Though she refused to give in to outright despair, Sansa dreaded what was to come. Her fiancé back in Boston had told her that mail from the west was unreliable at best. Aside from him, she had no one left who would look for her, no one who would even miss her for months.

 Their marriage had been arranged with the hope of combining fortunes as well as powerful family names; love had nothing to do with the match. When news reached him that she had been stolen by Indians, the Baratheons would call off the engagement at once, of that she was certain.

It was a common topic of discussion around the Baratheon table, the horrible tales of what happened to white women who were taken captive.  Before she headed west, Joffrey made it clear that rescue was nearly impossible for such captives and even when women were recovered, there was no rightful place for them in a God fearing society.

Sansa felt utterly hopeless. She had lost everything in an instant at the hands of the Indians. She should have stayed in the wagon and died with her family on the plains instead running away and following Margaery into the trees. Why had she done it? And what good had their attempted escape done them? Though they were alive, now they were the only surviving members of their families. Worse yet, they were prisoners heading toward an uncertain future and untold horrors, nevermore to be accepted by decent people and respectable society.

As she pondered their situation, her anger quickly turned into cold fear. Sansa had expected she and Margaery would be ravaged on the spot, but the men who took them didn’t seem intent on hurting them, at least not right away. The man with whom she rode was a powerfully built warrior, his coppery skin covered only by buckskin breeches, leggings, and a buffalo cloak. Her eyes were repeatedly drawn to an impressive necklace of long claws adorning his neck. Sansa decided that if he had been able to kill the creatures that previously owned them with only a bow and arrows, then he must be one to be feared, and she shivered at the thought.

His hair was as black as a raven, waist length and adorned with eagle’s feathers. He had a terribly scarred face, with high cheekbones, a hooked nose and beautiful, silver colored eyes. It appeared to her that he must be a high ranking member of the tribe and hold some measure of authority over the others, for she had seen the men confer with him before they acted and carefully take their cues from his movements and disposition.

The other Indian, the one who currently held Margaery, had spoken at length to him before burying her parents and covering them with rocks, presumably at his direction. After quietly observing their demeanor and appearances, it seemed to Sansa that it was possible they were from a different tribe than the ones who ambushed them. They were dressed very differently, their hair was long instead of shaved on the sides, and they painted their faces in a different way as well.

Slivers of lighting flickered across the blackened sky, temporarily illuminating the distant plains, but the threatening clouds had yet to rain on them. Sansa had no sense of distance in such open country, for one could ride toward the same hill for hours at a time and yet at the end of the day, find themselves no closer for the effort.  Briefly she wondered if they would have to camp out for the night with the men, the thought sending a fresh wave of fear through her body.  

The men showed no signs of stopping, or even of slowing down. The air was chilly but the large form of the man behind her radiated heat, and Sansa concluded that he must be accustomed to living out of doors.

The miles seemed to pass rather quickly, for the great black horse’s gait was very smooth indeed. Still, Sansa was unaccustomed to riding in any manner besides sidesaddle, and soon her body ached terribly. She dared not complain though, for the men understood some English, and so Sansa shivered and pulled her torn dress closer to her body.

“Cold?” The man behind her rasped out as he glanced over her body. As she gazed into his grey eyes, she wondered if it was possible that he was half white.

“Y-yes, cold,” Sansa finally stuttered out through chattering teeth.  “You speak English?”

“I can make white talk.” Gruffly he repositioned the heavy buffalo robe he wore and draped it over her as well. “Not good like you. Warm you will be now.”

“Thank you.” Sansa whispered.

His eyes traveled over her once more until he settled his eyes on her own. “Can you teach me? To make the white talk good?”

“Yes.” Sansa replied, surprised.

He gave a short nod, seemingly satisfied and then motioned the horse onward.

It seemed like a long while passed before Sansa finally asked: “What is your name?”

He looked at her questioningly. “What is you mean?”

“What are you called?” Sansa tried again.

The burned side of his mouth twitched. “Three Hounds. Sandor Three Hounds. What you are called?”

“I am Sansa. Sansa Stark.”

“Sansa?” He slowly said the word, the man seemingly testing out the feel of it on his tongue. “Sansa. Sansa. Your white words have a slant.”

 _He means my British accent_. “Yes,” she nodded. “I was born across the ocean.”

“What is it mean Sansa?”

Sansa thought for a moment, wondering how to explain it to him. “It means charm.”

“Charm?” He eyed her sharply. “I know not that word… to me it mean…”

She waited as he searched for the word.

“ _Takuni_ …nothing.” Bronn answered, grinning at her. “We have not heard the word.”

“ _Takuni._ Nothing.” Sandor nodded. “That charm word mean nothing to me.” He smirked at her, the man seemingly pleased with himself. “You are more little bird than Sansa.”

“What do you mean?” Sansa quietly asked, all the while wondering if it was wise to engage them in conversation. She once heard her father say it was harder to hate a man once you got to know them, and so Sansa decided that her best chance for survival was to act somewhat friendly toward them.

“Kitala Zitkala. Little Bird.” Sandor looked toward the other man, who smiled in return.  “Sansa Little Bird.”

“Sansa Little Bird.” Bronn repeated in English and then laughed outright. “A good name. She Yellow Flower.”

Margaery cast her a worried glance, though she herself did not seem worried. Nor did she share Sansa’s reservations about resting into the men for warmth, for she was leaning into Bronn’s arms. It was then that Sansa realized Margaery was using a far different tactic to ensure her survival.

Sansa began to grow afraid. “Why is it funny?” She finally squeaked out.

“Little Bird?” Sandor raised his brow.

“Yes.”

Sandor shook his head. “The way you hid in tree. Like a scared little bird. ”

“Oh, yes.” Sansa sadly stared at her hands as she nervously fumbled with the blanket around her shoulders.

Tipping her chin up to him, Sandor’s grey eyes studied her face so intently that her fear returned at once. Cautiously he reached out and ran a lock of her hair through his fingers. “Kissed by fire you.”  Ignoring his attentions, she steadfastly stared into his eyes, looking for clues as to what he had planned for her.  She gained no such information, for Sansa’s shy gaze was met with cold reserve by Sandor. “I will not hurt Little Bird.” He rasped quietly before steering the horse westward.

 _Of course you would tell me that, you don’t want me to try to escape._ But while Sansa longed to do just that, one glance around her revealed that even if she did manage to get away, there was no place to hide. Praying silently, Sansa fingered the cross her grandmother had given her.

Margaery cried most of the way, but Sansa’s tears eluded her until the lines of smoke from the cook fires appeared over the ridge. Sandor kicked the horse in the flanks and Bronn Blackwater did likewise, urging the animals onward.

 _No one will ever find us here,_ she thought, _even if they do come looking for us_.  A deep fear coiled in her belly as they rode into the village.

“Wasicu! Wasicu!” The people cried out. Women gathered their children and ran into the tipis, while others came forward, staring at them. Sansa wondered what the word meant, when suddenly she and Margaery were surrounded by the members of the tribe.

“Yamni Sunka! Yamni Sunka!”

Shaking, Sansa looked up at him. “What-“

“They call me Three Hounds.” Sandor interrupted without looking at her. “Do not make white talk in camp. Wait.”

Sansa was so frightened she forgot to answer. Hands grabbed at her skirts, feeling her bare legs and her hair. The indignity of being manhandled combined with her all-consuming fear drained the last of Sansa’s strength and rendered her speechless.

Reaching across her body, Sandor blocked their grasp, and not knowing what else to do, she turned and began to whimper into the buffalo robe. A warm wetness trickled down her legs, shaming her further still.

Sandor and Bronn shouted words that Sansa did not understand at the people, who at once moved away from them.

“Amáyuštaŋ yo po! _Leave us be_.” Sandor explained. “Come.” With a gentleness surprising in so large a man, he lifted her down from the saddle. He eyed her skirts, now soaked down both sides of her legs. “You made water.” There was no humor in his gaze; in fact, Sansa only saw sadness there.

“You have stolen us, what did you expect? I am afraid.” Sansa sobbed out angrily. She no longer cared what happened to her, she was through with being submissive. “I am heartsick. My family is dead!”

Sandor winced at her, his mouth stretching into a thin line but he remained silent as he stared at her.

Sansa stomped her foot. “I should have died with my family!”

“No, you not die. Not then.  Not now!” Sandor hissed as he stepped closer. Stunned, Sansa stumbled backward until his hand grasped her wrist and held her on her feet. “You not die.” Behind her she could hear Margaery yelping as Bronn dragged her from his horse. Turning, she saw him jerk her to her feet.

“You cannot keep me alive if I want to die.” She saw fear enter his eyes then.

Sandor turned to Bronn. “Wawat'echala Misukala Ki.” _Gentle, my younger brother._ “Ci wiyape kokipe.” _The women are afraid._

Two elderly women at once came forward and spoke to her and Margaery in soothing tones, stroking their hair. Even though she did not understand their words, it seemed very similar in attitude to the one her mother used with her when she was a little girl, bringing Sansa to tears. Soon she sunk to her knees, sobbing into her skirts, the young woman giving vent to her anguish and grief.

Sandor sat down beside her, watching her. “What will you do with us?” She asked in a decidedly different tone once she regained her composure.

Raising his brow, he nodded toward an elderly man with long white hair. “We speak to father.”

Out of the midst of the tribe emerged a tall man resembling Sandor who had eagle feathers woven in his white hair. The people moved aside for him as he made his way toward them.

“Ateweya Ki.” _My father_. Sandor bowed slightly and Bronn quickly followed suit.

Not knowing what else to do, Sansa bowed slightly in imitation of them, which at once drew the man’s attention to her. Awkwardly she waited, listening to the lengthy discussions between Sandor, Bronn, their father and several elder members of the tribe without understanding any of it, until Sandor abruptly left the group and led her to his tipi.

“Wait! Stop! What are you doing?” Panic took hold of her. “Stop, please!” Sansa struggled against him, twisting in his grasp.

“You stop!” Iron fingers gripped her arm. “You come with me. Now.”

“But-“

“No!” He growled harsher than Sansa had heard him speak before. “Chief Standing Bear asked what should do with you and Yellow Flower. I want you as mine.” Sandor pulled her closer still. “He gave you to me. I found you. You are mine now.”

“Yours? I’m not yours!” Sansa glared at him, digging her heels into the soft dirt.

“Yes, mine.” Sandor lifted her over his shoulder. “My woman.”

“You mean _: your wife_?” Sansa cried out in disbelief.

“Yes. Father gave me you.” Sandor snapped angrily. “I keep you safe.”

“But I am already engaged! And I don’t want to marry you! I don’t even know you-” She shouted as he carried her onward. They couldn’t be married-she hadn’t agreed to anything! She couldn’t even understand what was said. How could a wedding take place without the bride and groom saying vows?

And why would he even want to marry her? Did he think she owed him? Well, he was very mistaken if he did. She didn’t owe him anything but gratitude for taking her away from the Pawnee. Besides, she didn’t ask him to take her from their hiding place.

The previous crippling fear she felt melted into fury, and the more she thought on her situation, the angrier Sansa became.

No longer did she care if they killed her, she would not just give in. Kicking her feet, she shouted: “Who do you think you are? I am Sansa Stark, Lord Eddard’s daughter, you cannot just carry me off and say we’re married-“

She knew Sandor probably didn’t understand most of her words, but her tone of voice and volume left little doubt as to her feelings on the matter. But her behavior seemed to have little effect on him, though it did earn the stares and giggles of some of the old people as they passed.  Bronn merely watched her with the same sad expression Sandor wore.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Sandor’s father watching them gravely, frowning his displeasure at their behavior. Undeterred, Sandor walked with her that way through the village to the farthest tent from the Platte. Incensed, Sansa continued shouting out her indignation.

Sandor didn’t stop until they reached his tipi. Clearly bewildered, the man set her down and stared at her for a long moment before he opened the flap and pushed her inside, oddly gentle. Fuming, Sansa glared at him silently until the tipi flap unexpectedly opened once more.


	3. The Unwilling Wife

Four women entered the tent and the eldest one used a washcloth to shoo Sandor Three Hounds out of the tipi. Under different circumstances Sansa would have laughed, watching the indignant, heavily muscled warrior chased out of his own home by an old woman with a rag.

 _Sandor is now my husband_ , Sansa inwardly smoldered as the women set to work. She turned away from them and shook her head.  “Leave me be.”

She was too mad to care what Sandor might do to her for refusing to go along with it. When she spoke, he looked over his shoulder at her. Overcome with emotion, Sansa then burst into tears once more, clinging to the buffalo robe and sobbing out loudly.

“Un wawate ca, wiya wa mithawa,” he said to the women. “Kitala Zitkala wa kokipe na wiya wa oyazoye nako. Apiye iye.” _Be gentle, she is mine. Little Bird is scared and she is hurt also. Tend her._

“Unkis tawaci Yamni Sunka.”The eldest woman answered. _We will, Three Hounds._

 _“_ Waku iye wa iyotan waste thaha chugwignaka.” _Give her the best, most beautiful doeskin dress._

The women’s eyes widened.

He jutted out his chin at them.

All then readily agreed while averting their eyes submissively. “Wiya tawaci abla kela kuta ohakab unkis apiye iye.” _She will calm down after we tend her._ The eldest woman replied softly. “Nitawa ina.” _Like your mother._

Sandor’s eyes darted toward the old woman, and then slowly he assented.

Sansa watched the exchange with interest. He spoke softly yet authoritatively to the women. They seemed to recognize his position over them but they did not fear him. And still the man looked very sad as he gazed at her. “They bath you. I will come after.” Sandor explained in English, waiting for her to respond.

“Thank you.” Sansa answered.  His mouth twitched as he looked at her one last time before he left, closing the flap behind him.

Confusion churned within her. He seemed sympathetic enough, but should she trust him? Fear overwhelmed her once more, and Sansa began shaking. But as she was stripped and attended, the care of the women soothed her nerves for the first time since she entered the village.

Two younger girls carried in large basins filled with warm water. They all spoke softly to her as they gently rubbed fragrant oils into her skin and then bathed her with tallow soap and water.  When they removed her dress, they made sad noises as her flesh revealed the deep cuts she had sustained during her escape.

 The eldest woman gestured toward Sandor’s blanket questioningly and frowned as she gently touched the wound. “Yamni Sunka?”

Sansa shook her head. “Pawnee.”

Nodding once, the women murmured low. Gently they daubed at the wounds with a special paste that relieved the pain. The women scrubbed and rinsed her hair and then generously applied more fragrant oils and combed them through its length, crooning soothingly as they worked. After she was bathed, they helped her into the clean, buttery soft doeskin dress with very long fringe, furred leggings and then placed beaded moccasins on her feet.

The clothing was beautiful and unlike any she had ever seen.  She fingered the intricate beading with care and smiled at the women, thanking them in English.  From the youngest to the oldest, each woman took their turn smiling and patting her and then left.

She waited alone, mulling over her situation and praying as she waited for Sandor to return. When he ducked inside the tent flap, he stopped abruptly and gaped with all his might before he slowly moved beside her. His long hair was wet, she noticed; he must have bathed too. His muscular body was swathed in a woven robe and the fragrance of the herbs he used filled the small space.

“Thank you for the pretty clothes.” Sansa smiled shyly. Her nerves betrayed her, however, as they manifested in fidgeting with the fringe on her skirt. Sandor’s eyes were drawn to her hands, and then slowly he looked over her until his gaze reached her eyes.

“You look good.” he rasped quietly. “Warm now?”

She nodded. He moved closer still to her. Now what was Sandor going to expect of her? Swallowing hard, Sansa moved to make room for him on the sitting mat as Sandor settled several bowls in front of her. They both stared at each other curiously, though neither spoke. Breaking her gaze, Sandor raised a water skin and filled a hollowed out gourd for her.

“Yamni Sunka.” A woman’s voice called. Nervously Sansa fidgeted with the fringe on her dress as she watched him move toward the entrance.

Sandor opened the flap and stepped outside. An elaborately outfitted older woman peeked inside at her. After some discussion, Sandor returned with a mortar and pestle filled with oil and herbs.

He gestured to the food she had left untouched. “Eat.”

Frowning, Sansa picked out a piece of stewed meat she could not identify. Aside from a few root vegetables, she didn’t recognize anything in the bowl. Gingerly she nibbled on the meat. “Good,” she smiled at him.

"Tatanka. Buffalo." Sandor sat beside her. “After food, I tend wounds.”

Fear set her teeth on edge once more. She did not want him to touch her, and the very idea of him putting his hands on her send a cold wave of panic through her. Her throat suddenly became so dry she could hardly swallow. Slowly Sansa sipped the water and promptly began choking.

Silently Sandor watched her with the same sad look she noticed when he pointed out that she soiled herself. Quietly, he patted her on the back and then moved to apply the paste to the deep gash on her neck. Instinctively Sansa flinched away from him.

“We talk a while.”

Sansa agreed and moved a bit closer to him once more.

“Little Bird, I-“ he started, then paused as he searched for the right words. “I will not hurt you. The people who did this Pawnee, not Lakota. We do not hurt new people. Not our way. My mother was like you. Wasicu.”

His mother was white? She wanted to make sure she understood him. Sansa raised her eyes in surprise. “Your words are better. Your mother was found on the prairie: is that right?”

“Yes.” He said quietly. “Bronn help me find words to tell you.” After laying down his mortar and brush, he sighed. “You and Yellow Flower gifts from Great Spirit, come in place of lost ones.” Sandor stared at her intently. “Bronn lost woman. Yellow Flower given in place.” Sansa could see that he was willing her to feel the truth of his words, and that he was frustrated that their common language failed him.

He must have lost family too. “What happened to your family?” Sansa whispered.

Sandor remained quiet, though he resumed caring for her injuries. Gently he unwrapped her dress until only her belly was exposed. He watched her eyes, heard her breath catch in her throat, and waited. “Need medicine. Let me.”

Biting her lip, she nodded. As he carefully painted the mixture on her wound, Sandor began to speak. “It is not polite to talk of dead ones but you are new so I tell you. The buffalo hunters stole mother and she died. I killed them.” He gestured to a long lance that hung on the side of the tipi. “My wife died in the winter. So did son.” Sandor raised his eyes to hers and gripped her chin between his fingers, forcing her to look at him. Great pain clouded his gaze and Sansa could not look away, nor did she want to.

 _No wonder he reacted so strongly when I said I would rather be dead than live here._ It was then that Sansa no longer felt afraid of him, but rather _for_ him. “I am sorry.”

Sandor’s eyes flickered in recognition. “You are mine now. I read the Pawnee arrows. I find who did this,” his finger grazed the skin of her belly, then gently trailed up and over her bared flesh to her neck, the touch drawing a warm, unfamiliar feeling from her body. Sansa’s cheeks flushed red, and bashfully she lowered her eyes. Sandor tilted her chin up to him once more. “And when I see him,  I kill him and cut his hands off.”

Suddenly flustered, Sansa swallowed hard. So Sandor wasn’t going to rape or abuse her; he wanted her to be his family, to be his wife and give him sons; he wanted her to replace those he had lost. But what he was asking of her was an extraordinary thing. Sansa didn’t want to stay with him, she wanted to go home to Boston and then onward to England. She had enough of America, with its wild west, Indians and brutal weather. But even as Sansa’s mind rejected him, she also knew she would never be accepted into white society again. She had no family left either, so there was really very little difference between them, except he had an entire tribe and she had no one. Sandor, on the other hand, had claimed her because he wanted to protect her and for her to be his family.

In her present situation, she really was left with no choice but to adapt to this new life he offered. As Sansa mulled it over, Sandor placed both his huge hands on either side of her face and looked into her eyes. “My wife, you will be safe. No one in tribe will hurt you. No outside will hurt you. Not buffalo hunters, not soldiers. No one hurt you again or I kill them.”

The sincerity of his tone touched her deeply. “What do you want from me?” Sansa finally asked, searching his eyes as she spoke. “We are strangers to each other.”

Sandor did not answer for a long time.  Finally he drew a deep breath before he answered, “Teach me the white talk like you speak. I want that.” Sandor slowly unwrapped a small package that contained a book. “Teach me to read the tracks on pages.”

Moved by his request, Sansa allowed herself to relax a bit and she submitted to his attentions, forcing herself not to stiffen at his touch. “Alright, I will teach you to read and speak English like I do.”

He offered her a small smile, which on his scarred lips appeared as a light twitch of the corner of his mouth. Quietly Sandor sat, observing her, waiting for what she did not know.

“Will you teach me your language too?” Sansa asked nervously, the young woman  unsure as to how Sandor would respond to her request.

Surely Sandor married her because he wanted more from her than reading lessons, though. Sansa started to ask him what more was expected of her but then decided it wiser not to speak further. When he finished tending her, Sandor wrapped her dress once more, removed her moccasins and turned down the furs. “Sleep now.”

Good lord, would he expect the wedding night to begin now? She hesitated, and once more he urged her to lay down. “Sleep you need. You are hurt.”

Uncertainly Sansa did as he told her, trembling violently as she settled on her back and waited. To her surprise, though, nothing happened. After blowing out the candles in the lanterns, Sandor laid beside her.

Howling wind battered the walls of the tipi, followed by a driving rainstorm. Listening to the sound relaxed her. Sandor pulled her to him and buried his face in her hair as he covered them both with a soft buffalo blanket. “For warmth,” he told her when she gasped at his movement. Promptly Sandor then fell asleep while Sansa laid awake and wondered what the future held for her and Margaery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The women tending and smiling at Sansa is not to be mistaken for a romanticizing of the treatment she or other captives might experience: in real life, the Lakota women would treat her with honor because she belongs to a respected warrior, the chief's son. Also, they would be happy that he had received a gift from Wakan Tanka (the Great Spirit), that he had been blessed with a replacement for his lost wife and child; it would be considered as proof that he had powerful medicine and ensure that he was the right choice as future chief of their band. Margaery, as future chapters will show, will be treated much differently though not abused.
> 
> And one last small point: the length of the fringe denoted position in the tribe: the longer the fringe, the more well respected the woman.


	4. Dreams

Sandor awakened the following morning to discover Little Bird -  _Sansa_ , she was called in the white tongue - in his arms huddled under the buffalo blanket at his side.

He decided he would call her both names, just as he and Bronn were referred; perhaps it would become a family naming tradition. And family was what he now had in her. Family was everything.

Loneliness had eaten away at Sandor since his wife and son passed into the spirit world.  Though his first wife and he had a marriage born more of duty than love, he had come to care for her and the boy she had given him had been the light of his life.

Their deaths had left him as empty and cold as the winter landscape. Sandor had begun keeping to himself, staying separate from the tribe. There was no longer room in his world for anything other than the memory of his family.

White Buffalo had encouraged him to find another wife but he did not want to. When Sandor told her he would never marry again, the medicine woman had told him that he was wrong; he would find great passion and deep love in his next union, that she had seen it in the stones.

He had not believed her, for there was no woman among the people who incited such feelings in him. Hoping to make sense of her words, Sandor had sought a vision in the sweat lodge, but the result had left him confused. A wolf with blue eyes and a pelt as red as the sky at dawn after the rain had repeatedly appeared to him.

“Why would Wakan Tanka give me a vision of a wife that was a wolf?” Sandor had asked her.

“The wolf can mean Pawnee.”

It had worried him. The unusual nature of the vision was puzzling enough, but paired with the wolf, it could mean a good hunt or war was coming and to see it in connection with a woman who was to be his wife was unsettling.  

“The Pawnee have taken the wolf as their own but it does not belong to them alone. You are a fierce warrior who makes powerful medicine in battle. Wait and see. The answer will come.” White Buffalo assured him.

Though perplexed, it did not take Sandor long before he put the wolf vision out of his mind; he had more important worries than when a woman would come to him. Food was scarce; whites invaded their lands at every turn. The Pawnee raided their food stores and winter was coming.

Deciding to leave it in the hands of the Great Spirit, Sandor had given the matter little thought afterward. But when he had spied Little Bird in the alders, her hair a deep red sash among the yellow leaves, he felt she was the gift Wakan Tanka had meant for him.

Her bright blue eyes, so like that of the wolf he had seen, looked him in the face unflinchingly, something few enough of his own people were willing to do, and he was immediately taken with her.

Little Bird had proven herself intelligent and brave; she survived the Pawnee raid where the men with rifles did not. She had been so terrorized by the Pawnee that both he and Bronn at first feared her mind would break.

Whites seemed prone to such after they were captured. He and his brother had seen it many times in both men and women alike. Whites were weak willed, it seemed to Sandor and Bronn, and ill prepared to care for and defend themselves.

Despite that she was both white and quite young, Little Bird’s mind had not shattered. She was unlike any white he had ever seen. The wolf spirit in her had broken free and made her fierce when Bronn had taken her companion.

She kicked and screamed, her pale cheeks flushed and eyes wild as she loudly protested their attempts to help her. She was beautiful in her anger, with her red hair flying in the wind, her deep blue eyes flashing. She even challenged him as he reached for her.  Surely this was a sign that she was unusual even among her own people, a special kind of white person.

He had never seen any woman behave in such a way, and Sandor liked it. Though he could not understand her white talk when she was angry, Sandor admired her spirited ways.

 _Perhaps it was from Little Bird’s people that the whites grew in number, and not the ones our people had previously met on the plains._ Immediately Sandor decided he wanted her for his own. Determined she would become his, he made sure he touched her first so he would become her protector.

Bronn had thought Black Elk was lucky because he found a good rifle and gold, but it was Sandor who was truly blessed.

Sansa was a wild and beautiful creature, one he had managed to capture for his own the moment she placed her hand in his.

When they entered camp, White Buffalo’s keen eyes observed Sansa’s manner carefully and confirmed Sandor’s conclusion to the chief that even though she was wasicu, she was indeed wolf blooded.

“Little Bird was the woman I had seen, and she will be a good match for the son of a chief, especially one who is half white.” White Buffalo had told his father.

“Why did you not tell us that my son’s woman was wasicu in the dream?” The chief demanded.

“I did not see her color, but it made sense when I saw her, for they are both white.”

The chief agreed and at once his father had given her to him. No one in the tribe challenged it, though Sandor could see by the looks on several of the warrior’s faces that they would have liked to take her for their own.

With Little Bird’s beauty, he knew it was to be expected, and so he sought the wedding quickly.

Sandor had been most pleased to have her but Little Bird’s fear had dampened his enthusiasm, for he had no idea how long it would take her to adapt to being his woman and to the tribe. Whites lived very differently than the people and thought differently too.

His father had said it was many moons before his own mother even let him touch her, let alone lay with him. Would Sansa Little Bird be the same way?

Even though Bronn’s woman suffered the same as Sansa, she seemed to take to him rather quickly, and Sandor hoped it would be the same for them.

For all her wolf blooded ways, though, she was still a delicate Little Bird.  Sandor was determined he would treat her carefully, even reverently, like the gift from the Great Spirit that she was to him. Although she was already given to him in marriage, Sandor was determined he would earn her, for she was a woman well worth having at any price.

He had been most eager to show the people that he valued her. By the standards of his tribe, Sandor was very well off with much to offer her, and he had made sure Little Bird had been given the best oils for her bath, the strongest medicine for her wounds, and the finest clothing the tribe had made.

Sandor also had stunned the older women by insisting on treating her wounds, allowing no one to heal her but himself; his actions caused much excitement, as such was not the way of warriors. But neither his father nor White Buffalo had said a word against it, and since Sandor let it be known he would fight any man who questioned his behavior, the talk soon ended.

As for Little Bird, she had not only submitted to his touch but had responded to him as well, blushing and suddenly turning shy with him as he caressed her smooth skin. Sandor took it as both a pleasant surprise and a sign that she was meant to be his and that his actions had the blessing of Wakan Tanka.   

As the storm howled outside, the Little Bird had moaned and cried out in her sleep throughout the night.

“Are you hurt?” He had asked her over and over again.

“No.” Little Bird had answered each time. The look of terror in her eyes told him something had frightened her but he did not press her for an answer.  She would tell him when she was ready.

In the middle of the night Sandor sought White Buffalo, who gave him a tea to chase the bad spirits from her mind.  After she had drank the tea, Little Bird had not hesitated to curl up beside him, her responsive behavior pleasing him even though he knew it was born from fear and not affection.

It greatly disturbed Sandor that she did not feel safe in her new home, nor with him. As he thought of these things, she began to moan and thrash about in her dreams once more. Sandor wanted to awaken her, but interrupting a dream was a delicate matter. The spirits may be speaking to her.

Perhaps it was the Pawnee that still frightened her. Had they come to Little Bird and haunted her in her dreams as revenge for escaping them?  As she curled into him closer still, Sandor believed that even in her dreams, she sought him for protection and safety, so she must be afraid, not in pain.

It was as it should be, for he was her protector now, and so Sandor decided then that he would make war on the Pawnee who had hurt her so they could no longer frighten her. His woman would feel safe in his own lands and among his own people. Sandor would prove his worth to her as a husband by killing the men who made this bad medicine on her.

When he looked at the beautiful woman beside him, Sandor was rather pleased with himself to have found the wife White Buffalo had seen in the rocks. He studied her face, which was taut and frozen into a pained expression.

Was she still suffering? So far she had not complained at all but her wounds were fairly deep and Sandor knew she must hurt. He was proud of having a wife so strong that she did not complain even when bearing serious injury.

Gently he reached over and stroked her cheek, as white and soft as bird feathers. “You are mine,” Sandor whispered to her on Lakota. “I will not let anyone hurt you or take you from me, Sansa Little Bird.”

Little Bird’s eyes opened then. “Sandor?”

“I have you,” Sandor covered her up. “You are safe.”

She stiffened slightly but did not remove herself from his arms. “Is it morning yet?”

“Yes.”

Little Bird shyly averted her eyes. “It is still dark. Is it early?”

“No. The storm still blows.”

She glanced around the tipi. “Thank you for caring for me last night. I am sorry I kept you up. I was having nightmares.”

“What is ‘nightmares’?” Sandor sat up, watching her. Whatever they were, he would stop them from bothering her a second night.

“Bad dreams, scary dreams,” Sansa sadly studied her hands. “Dreams of seeing what happened to my parents and my brothers.”

Enraged, Sandor clenched his jaw so tightly that he tasted blood. So the Pawnee had put bad medicine on her. Well, he would make war on them and put and end that once and for all. They would curse the day they were born when he was through with them.

Pulling back the buffalo blanket, he moved to stand and Sansa started to get up too, wincing as she did so.

“No. You are hurt. Rest.” Sandor poured another cup of tea. “Here. Drink.”

Obediently she did as he told her.

“I send Yellow Flower to you and Running Fox. They care for you. You sleep today.”

“What will you do today?” She spoke hesitantly, as if she were afraid her questions would anger him. "I can start teaching you to read, if you want."

Sandor knelt beside her. “Tonight you teach me. I go speak with the men.” He decided he would not tell her that he meant to make war on the Pawnee warriors who hurt her yet.

Her blue eyes grew large when he unlaced his breeches and pulled them off his legs.

"Wife, help," Sandor ordered as he slipped on the beaded leggings.

When she did not respond, Sandor said: "Tie this," and gestured to his breastplate.

He could do it himself but it was her duty to help him, and Little Bird needed lessons to be a wife just as he did in reading the tracks on the page.

When Sansa Little Bird still did not reply, Sandor turned to see that she had hidden her face in the blanket. It occurred to him then that his wife most likely had never lain with a man, which made him prouder still to have her.

“You not belong to a man until me?” Sandor nudged her arm.

“No.” She whispered from the blanket.

Crestfallen, Sandor silently cursed his rudeness; how could he have been so foolish? He did not know how to tell her that he was sorry; her distress moved him so that he had forgotten the English words.

When tears filled her eyes, he stopped preparing and sat beside her.

"I am sorry," Sandor spoke low. "I shame you."

"No, I am not shamed, just embarrassed." She tried to smile at him even though her cheeks were still flushed pink, making her look even more beautiful.

Sandor didn't understand the long word but he decided he would ask Bronn what it meant. After he sat beside her, Sandor moved his hair over his shoulder and put the breastplate over his head. "Tie for me?"

"Yes." Sansa whispered shyly. Her fingers were feather light against his skin, sending a shiver of pleasure through his body."I want to learn to be a good wife to you."

“Good." He replied, very pleased by her words.  Not knowing how to tell her this, Sandor softly rasped: "Let me look at wound. I take off dress.”

Gently he unwound the material around her abdomen, removed the strips of cloth covering her injury and smelled them. A deep sigh of relief escaped Sandor's lips when he saw there was no infection. "It look good."

“I do not want you to go,” Sansa whispered as he retied her dress. “I have no one now, only you.“ She sounded so very sad that it cut into his heart.

“Yes,” he nodded, puzzled by her statement. “I have only you.” They both had lost family, it was true.

He handed her a piece of flatbread and took one for himself. As Sandor ate, it occurred to him that she must have meant that she thought he was leaving the village. 

The tender feeling that came over him at this discovery was sweeter than any he had known since his son was born, making Sandor more determined than ever to kill the Pawnee and end her misery.  

"Rest." Sandor helped her lay down. "I go to meet with men in village. I will be back when the sun is high. Running Fox will come.”

She started to protest, but he put his finger to her lips and shook his head.  Once Sansa was asleep, Sandor stepped out and made his way to his father’s tipi. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The opinion that whites were weak and helpless was a common belief among many tribes. They would watch settlers struggling for food and shelter and took it to mean that they were unable to help themselves and perhaps a weaker species than the native peoples. This is why it was so unbelievable to them that whites could flourish in other parts of the country and thus underestimated the risk they posed to the indigenous way of life.
> 
> The Lakota watch the wolf and imitate it's behaviors, particularly in hunting. For example, that is why they send out scouts to find game and let the rest of the hunters follow. They also patterned their family dynamics after wolves as well. The wolf was a very important spirit animal to the Pawnee, which is why Sandor is very disturbed by seeing one in connection with his wife. The next chapter will explain why he saw the wolf, though, aside from Sansa being a Stark. :D
> 
> A Lakota man had to earn his wife, which is a significantly different cultural phenomena that the more typical female dowry traditions. Not only did he have to prove he could provide her with everything she may need to set up housekeeping, he also had to prove himself as her protector, usually by bringing her the pelt of a fierce animal (preferably a grizzly, as it is the fiercest of all the plains animals, but buffalo hides were good too.) A man seeking to marry would leave these gifts outside the tipi of the woman he wanted and if they were gone in the morning, it meant she accepted him.


	5. Husbands and Wives

The smell of the wet grass on the prairie filled Sandor’s nose as he stepped outside the tipi. He noticed the storm clouds had blown over, leaving the land covered in a light dusting of snow that sparkled in the sunshine. Sandor's gaze fell on his father, Chief Standing Bear, sitting outside his tipi and watching the people go about their daily routines. Bronn was already sitting beside his father, bearing his gift. When Sandor approached, his brother slyly grinned at him.

The chief viewed the young men’s bundles with interest before inviting them both into his tipi. His wives, Black Bird and Many Moons, offered them food and drink, which both brothers accepted.

“Are you happy with your wife?” He turned to Sandor first. “Are you making good medicine with her?”

“Yes, I am most pleased with her.” Sandor felt his mouth twitch into a smile as he spoke.

“She was upset yesterday.” The chief commented. “Does the morning find her better?”

“Yes. She was in pain and afraid. Her wounds are more severe than I realized. Once the women tended her, she calmed down.”

“Hmm, good,” his father nodded understandingly. “How do _you_ find her?”

“Sansa Little Bird is kind and polite and as smart as the fox.” Sandor bowed and offered his father the buffalo robe. “Thank you for giving her to me.”

His father eagerly accepted it, taking time to admire the workmanship of the skin before he went on. “White Buffalo spoke to me. She told me that though Little Bird’s injuries are serious, she does not complain. She also said she has very good manners.” Standing Bear glanced sideways at his eldest son. “A spirit bear among wasicu, she called her. And your wife is as beautiful as sunset.”

“Yes, she is the prettiest woman I have ever seen.” Sandor allowed, his breath suddenly escaping him at the memory of the way she looked lying in his arms.  “Sansa Little Bird is good in all respects; she only needs to learn how to be a Lakota wife.” He then folded his arms, indicating he was through speaking.

“Good. Learning will go easier for her since she is willing. What else do you have to tell me of her?” His father asked quietly.

“She has agreed to help me with the white talk and asked to learn to speak our tongue in return.”

Intrigued, Standing Bear leaned in closer to look his son directly in the eyes. “It is not a small thing to have a wasicu ask to learn the Lakota language. Perhaps Sansa Little Bird is the first in the tribe, for most whites who come to live among us learn out of necessity, not to gain knowledge.”

Sandor was glad he mentioned it to his father before proceeding and apparently Bronn agreed, since he raised his eyebrows at his brother.  Both men waited patiently for their father's decision.

After thinking the matter over a while, Standing Bear smiled at Sandor, the man obviously well pleased by his son’s respectful appeal.  “It is a sign of her strong medicine that she would make such a request. You will teach her. I will send Running Fox to teach her the ways of the women.”

“You are a wise chief.” Sandor bowed to his father.

“Tell me: did you enjoy your wedded night?” His father raised his brow, watching him closely in a manner that since childhood made Sandor uncomfortable.

“Yes. I held her.” Sandor paused, searching for the right words. Sansa felt so soft in his arms that he did not want to turn her loose when she awakened, but he would keep that to himself. His father watched him closely. “She was receptive. It was good, holding her close.  But I am waiting to make her mine in truth,” Sandor lowered his eyes respectfully. “She is hurt and needs time.”

“As your mother was, my son.” Standing Bear nodded understandingly. “You honor her by treating your wife gently. I am pleased with your choices.”

“You were most generous in giving her to me. I wish to give fifty horses for her.”

“For a wasicu?” Bronn interrupted, his surprise clear on his face. “Older brother, she is already yours.”

Standing Bear listened to the exchange with interest.

“I value her above all else.” Sandor explained. “She is worth it. I will give more than that, if Father wishes it.”

Abashed, Bronn sputtered: “Still, it will offend the women to give more for her than you would a Lakota woman -“

Standing Bear frowned at Bronn.

“One man cannot tell another what to do. And you, my younger son: how do you find Yellow Flower?”

“I find her very affectionate and willing to please me,” Bronn fought to hide his smile. He then offered his father six wolf pelts, which the elderly man examined carefully. “Thank you for giving her to me.”

Standing Bear took out the pelts one by one, admiring their patterns. “You value her as well.”

"I do, Father. I value her greatly."

“How is her disposition?”

“She laughs a lot."  Bronn cleared his throat, fighting to hide his smile. “Margaery Yellow Flower only traveled with her as her companion.  She is very talkative and expressive. I like it.”

"You did not call White Buffalo for her. Is she not suffering in the same way as Sansa Little Bird?"

"No, Father, she is not, as she was not wounded and did not lose her family in the struggle with the Pawnee.”

“I see.” Standing Bear responded. “Where are her people?”

“They are across the great grey ocean to the east.”

The chief raised his brow. “Will they come for her, do you think?”

Bronn shook his head. “No. I do not believe so. I took the matter to White Buffalo, and she did not see them coming for her.”

Standing Bear folded his arms. “How is it that she escaped injury but Little Bird did not?”

Sandor perked up his ears, for this was the question he wanted answered as well, but he could not bear to question Sansa about it just yet.

“The Pawnee warrior killed Sansa Little Bird’s mother, thinking it would subdue her, but she grew fiercer still and fought him off while Yellow Flower escaped into the alder stand. When Sansa Little Bird’s medicine was too strong, he gave up and let her be, and Sansa followed her into hiding.”

Their father sighed sadly. “Does she want to learn our language as well?”

Bronn shifted on his feet. “She has not said.”

“Is she your wife in truth?” When he hesitated, the chief prompted: “Have I not spoken?”

“Yes, Father, I hear your words. She is mine in truth.” Bronn admitted finally.

“I know she is, for the people overheard you enjoying her.”  Gravely the chief turned fully to face him. “Did you force her to lie with you?”

“No, Father.” Bronn bowed his head submissively and cast a nervous glance at Sandor. “I would not disgrace you or her by doing that. She is very passionate; that is what the people heard.”

The chief let out a deep breath. “Good. It should be so with a man and his wife.” The three men sat in silence for a time. Finally the chief spoke again. “Nevertheless, Yellow Flower will learn to be a good wife whether she wills it or not. You will have her serve the women as they see fit, though they will not be permitted to mistreat her. If any woman does, you will punish her as _you_ see fit. Learn to make the white talk as she speaks it, and let her guide you in the white way.”

“Yes, Father.” Bronn smiled guardedly. “You are a wise chief.”

Sandor discerned from Bronn’s response that he did not think his wife would take to serving the women; undoubtedly their father concluded this as well. Word was going around the camp that the women of the tribe were not happy that both of the chief’s sons had married wasicu women; likely they would make her work very hard for them as punishment. They would not dare do so with Little Bird, though, for Sandor had set the example in how he wanted her to be treated. They would behave toward her as they did him or suffer the consequences at his hand.

“I wed you both to the wasicu women not only to take the place of your lost wives, my sons.” Standing Bear began. “I did so because learning their language could be most useful to the tribe. You both speak the white words but not with smoothness, as your mothers did. If treaties are to be struck with their people, you must understand _all_ their words. Many seasons ago, Grey Owl warned me that whites can be very deceptive.” Looking toward Sandor, he added: “The wolf symbol of Little Bird is powerful medicine, my son. She is well suited for you. Allow her to guide you in this area. That is all I have to say.”

Sandor respectfully nodded in agreement. “I will listen to her, Father.”

Patiently Sandor waited until his father lit his pipe to plead his cause. After drawing several deep puffs from it, he handed it to him. “What else can I tell you today, my oldest son?”

Anger burned anew within Sandor as he recalled Sansa Little Bird’s suffering the night before. “The Pawnee have put bad medicine on my wife,” Sandor fought the urge to raise his voice.  “They are punishing her for escaping them. They have done wrong in tormenting my wife.” He leaned in close and held up his grizzly claw necklace. “I would see them suffer for it.”

His father nodded thoughtfully as Sandor returned the pipe. “It was only one night, my son. She needs you to help her. Leaving so soon may make it worse for her than it is now. Without you there, who will protect her from it?”

Bronn sat up straighter, his gaze darting between the men anxiously.

“Father you always look at things from all sides and that is good. But if I make war on them, the Pawnee warriors will never frighten her again.”

“My son, you are a powerful warrior, and you trust your instincts. But it is a delicate matter, making war on the Pawnee who killed Sansa Little Bird's family.” Standing Bear paused. “They were in their own lands when they came upon them. They did nothing wrong in killing the wasicu who trespassed.”

“No.” Sandor agreed. “But they are wrong for tormenting my wife.”

The chief nodded and then turned to Bronn. “Bronn Blackwater, is Yellow Flower troubled?”

“No, Father, she fell fast asleep after we finished-“ Looking down, Bronn bit his lip, the man realizing his mistake at once.

Standing Bear shook his head severely. “You must avoid putting every thought to word, my son.”

“I meant no disrespect to you, my chief. Forgive me.”

Standing Bear handed Bronn the pipe. “I am glad your wife has found peace in your dwelling.”

“Likely they know Sansa Little Bird is strong and did so to make her leave the people and give them another opportunity to take her.” Bronn offered as further explanation, since he noticed Sandor struggling to contain his rage.

“She moaned and cried through the night from the visions of her family being killed. I could not console her.” Sandor interrupted angrily. “White Buffalo made medicine for her but it did not last long. I do not wish to make war on all Pawnee, but on the warriors who did this so she will not suffer anymore. Little Bird must feel safe in my dwelling.”

Returning his attention to Sandor, Standing Bear said: “Little Bird has strong medicine, it is true. The Pawnee may have seen it. Still, it is not an easy matter, going into Pawnee lands to avenge the medicine sent against a woman. If she still suffers after two moons, you may make war on the Pawnee. If you find the men in our lands, it is a different matter; do with them as you see fit. That is all I have to say.”

Disappointed, Sandor nevertheless bowed to his father. The three men smoked a while together in silence.

“Tomorrow we break camp and make for our winter lodges.” Chief Standing Bear announced. “Prepare the people, my sons.” He turned to Sandor. “Make a travois for Sansa Little Bird. Bronn, you will choose the gentlest mare for your wife from my herd.”

The young men both bowed to their father and then took their leave.

* * *

Sansa slept the rest of the morning, after which she sat by the flap of the tipi waiting for Sandor to come back. He had been a comforting presence the night before, and she longed for him to return. Sansa wondered how she could have let herself feel kindly toward him when Sandor had taken her the day before. As she thought it over, two young women called to her from outside.

“Kitala Zitkala.” Sansa recognized her Lakota name.

Next came Margaery’s voice. “Sansa, can we come in?”

“Yes, come in,” she moved to open the flap, then cried out in pain. Hurriedly the young Lakota woman helped her back into the furs while Margaery stirred the fire. Sansa glanced over her friend. She wore a far plainer buckskin dress, leggings and moccasins than Sandor had given her, but Margaery was still just as pretty as always. Perhaps Bronn had been kind to her, too.

“How are you feeling?” Margaery took Sansa’s hand in her own. It was obvious that her friend had worked very hard that morning, though Sansa could hardly credit the thought for Margaery had always done her best to get out of any kind of labor. "You fought that Pawnee like a wild cat."

“I am better. The wounds are healing but it still hurts whenever I move.” Sansa eyed Margaery’s dirty hands and soiled apron. “What have you been doing this morning?”

“Working like a dog that’s what,” Margaery huffed out, the  young woman clearly disgusted. “I don’t understand why they are making me work so hard. This morning they made me wash the horses-can you believe it?”

“Wash the horses?” Sansa repeated, puzzled. “How horrid!”

“Yes! I had to wade out into the Platte with each one after the rider finished and then wash the horse’s legs and underbelly.” She shook her head in disbelief. “The water is ice cold! And the women are mean to me, always pointing at me and complaining.”

Sansa refrained from telling her that the women had been kind to her and that so far, so had Sandor. “I’m so sorry, Margie.” They had been friends since childhood and she didn’t want to discourage her in her new role.

“Then they made me feed the scraps to the dogs and then mend Bronn’s clothing.” Margaery pouted as she went on. “Now I’m this one’s helper and it isn’t even dinner time yet. Can you imagine what the people in Boston would say if they could see me now?”

“Well, I must say that the work looks as though it agrees with you.” Sansa offered weakly. “You’re positively glowing this morning.” 

Margaery shrugged, though her eyes twinkled mischievously. “Am I?”

“Yes,” Sansa studied her closely, her curiosity growing by the minute. “What have you been up to?”

“Doing what is necessary to survive this mess, if you catch my meaning.” Margaery’s mouth curled into a grin.  “I think I have done well with Bronn, and he seems to genuinely care for me.”

“And you?” Sansa eyed her. “How do you feel about him? You weren’t so keen on him yesterday when he dragged you off his horse, I recall.”

“Well, I was upset at first." She grinned. "Once I got to know him a bit, though, I discovered he’s very warm and handsome and…virile.”

Sansa sat bolt upright. “Margaery, did you-? You didn’t!”

Her friend had never given a second thought to morals and Sansa knew that she had been with many men, but having relations with an Indian man on the very same day she met him was shocking behavior even for Margaery.

“Yes!” She whispered, giggling. “I did! Bronn is cute, what can I say? And he was _wonderful_.” When Sansa gaped at her, Margaery rolled her eyes. “Sansa, spare me your looks. We’re married, it isn’t like it’s _that_ bad. He’s so sweet, he taught me the Sioux way of giving a hug.”

“Really?” Sansa exclaimed, her curiosity getting the better of her. “How does he do it?”

“Well, he rests his head on mine and lays his hands on my shoulders.” Margaery smiled broadly.

“No wonder you’re so content to work like a farm hand.” Sansa sarcastically rolled her eyes and shook her head as she pulled the furs around her. She could not imagine her high society friend rolling over for a Lakota man so easily, and the thought disconcerted her. “How are you getting along with him?”

“We get along very well, Sansa, as hard as it may  be for you to believe. I like Bronn very much. He is funny and good looking and likes conversation,” Margaery tossed her braid over her shoulder. “So tell me: how do you like _Sandor_?“

“He is kind to me but a bit fierce, too, when dealing with others.” Sansa blushed then, though she didn’t know why. “He cared for my wounds himself. He wouldn't hear of anyone else doing it.”

“Well, how long do you think you can hold him off, Miss Priss?” Margaery winked as she pulled Sansa’s furs closer to her and tucked her in. “I saw the hungry way he stared at you. If it wasn’t for your wounds, you would no longer be the blushing maiden, _believe_ me.”

Unnerved by Margaery's observation, Sansa frowned and worried her lip. Could it be true that Sandor had only been kind to her because he was biding his time to get her into his bed?  Margaery was far more experienced than she; perhaps she had seen something Sansa had not. For some reason Sansa was deeply disappointed by the thought, and she swallowed hard to dispel the resulting lump in her throat.

“Sansa, you mustn't despair-you might even learn to enjoy being with him,” Margaery attempted to cheer her. More seriously, she added: “Besides, you remember what Joff used to say about such women as we now are-we can never go back to what we _were_ , so we might as well make the best of it.”

“Yes, you are right about that.” Sansa answered calmly, though her eyes filled with tears. So much had changed so quickly, she could hardly comprehend it. And yet Sandor _had_ been kind to her, so maybe it wouldn’t be so bad at some later point in time to consider being a true wife to him.

“But Margaery, don’t you _want_ to go back to England? Are you so ready to give up your life there for _this_?”

She shrugged. “What does it bloody matter? Sansa, you must stop dwelling on what will never be.“ Her attitude had taken on a decidedly cold, defensive air. “Just accept what is and forget the rest. Besides, it doesn’t look like you’re doing so badly for yourself.” Margaery attempted a lighter tone as she gestured to the beading on Sansa’s dress and then to her own, more simple garment.

Margaery’s words angered her; in fact her very presence began to annoy Sansa, but she could not say why. Her expression must have betrayed her emotions, for Margaery teased her: “Oh don’t worry, I’m just making conversation. I won’t try to steal your husband.”

A deep blush flushed her cheeks, though Sansa stubbornly averted her eyes.

“So I take it that you didn’t…” Margaery gestured to Sandor's unmade side of the furs.

“No,” Sansa grudgingly admitted. “We have _not_ and I don’t intend on doing so with him, either.”

“Didn’t he at least try to convince you a bit?” Margaery needled her further. “No wandering hands…”

Flustered, Sansa angrily shook her head as she recalled the way his fingers trailing over her skin made her feel. “No. He was kind. I do not want to talk about this anymore.”

Noticing her distress, Running Fox stood up and harshly pointed a giggling Margaery outside. The flap opened once more and Sandor stepped inside, his sudden presence sending butterflies to Sansa’s stomach. He gazed at her for a moment and then gestured to Running Fox to leave.

“My wife,” Sandor rasped low as he sat down beside her. “How you feel?”

“Better. I am glad to see you.” Sansa softly smiled at him.

“You are pale,” Sandor cautiously reached for her cheek, stroking it with the back of his hand. "The roses have left your cheeks." His warm hand felt good against her skin. She smiled and leaned into his touch, the gesture seeming to please him. Sandor stared deeply into her eyes before he softly rasped: “You lay down and sleep.”

“I will, Sandor, but when would you like to start learning to read?” Sansa fidgeted with the blanket.

His eyes narrowed. “When you are well, there will be time for it then.”

“I want to ask you a question.” Sansa nervously bit her lower lip. “Why are you being so good to me? Why have you given me these nice clothes and furs?”

Sandor moved beside her and took her face in his hands. “Sansa Little Bird, I want you to feel good when I am with you. To know I will take good care of you. One day, I want you to be happy with me here.” His thumbs brushed her jawline as he spoke; a corresponding flush of heat surged through Sansa’s body at his touch, and at once she began trembling.

 _So Margaery had been wrong about him._  Sandor frowned as he noticed her reaction, but Sansa leaned closer and rested her forehead against his own, her affectionate gesture drawing a sharp intake of breath from the fierce man. Sandor leaned closer still and brought his hands to her shoulders and closed his eyes, and Sansa did likewise. “I do feel good with you Sandor. And I know you are a good provider. I just-“ She stopped speaking, unsure how to explain her feelings in simple terms to him.

“You need time.” Sandor finished, pulling her into his arms. “Father said it was same for mother. Rest now. Then we eat.” He covered her in furs and then laid down beside her, spooning his body against her back. “We leave for winter camp at dawn.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The women's treatment of Margaery and her duties are more consistent with that of a typical warrior's wife among the Lakota. She would be expected to tend his horse and dogs and mend his clothing, as well as many other household chores. On the other hand, Sansa, as the wife of the fiercest warrior and the next chief of the tribe would be treated with great honor.
> 
> Sandor's father says White Buffalo called her "a spirit bear among wasicu." A grizzly who has a white or blondish coat (which is very rare) is referred to as a spirit bear, and the Lakota believe it is a very special, exceedingly powerful spirit animal. This is another way of saying Sansa is very rare, special person among her own people. He also finishes his sentences with: "that is all I have to say," because that is a chief's means of indicating that he has given his final word and he will have no further discussion of the matter. Traditionally it is considered respectful in Lakota discussions to complement the previous speaker before offering a alternating point of view.
> 
> It was normal for a Lakota fathers and mothers to ask about their children's wedding night and offer sex education to ensure the happiness of the union as well as grandchildren.
> 
> An offer of fifty horses for a wife was very generous; only the wealthiest, fiercest warriors would have such riches. Sandor offers to give his father even more for Sansa, indicating the high regard in which he holds her.


	6. Break for Winter Camp

At first light, Sansa was awakened to the sound of Bronn’s voice. “Thikapa unthantanhan waniyetu.” _“Bring your tipi and break camp; it is winter.”_ The sound of his words sent the camp into a flurry of activity as he passed the dwellings.

“It is time to move, Little Bird.” Sandor began disassembling their tipi.

“Why are we leaving?”

“Winter is coming,” he stated simply. “We move when winter comes.”

Running Fox led a group of women in who hurried to help teach Sansa how to pack their belongings. The going was slow, however, for her wounds pulled as she moved around. Silently cursing her injuries, Sansa did her best to keep up.

“Where is Margaery?” She asked Sandor in passing.

“She packs Bronn’s things.” Sansa figured as much but she had hoped to see her friend before they left. He took a bundle from her arms and then led her to sit down. “Do not lift heavy things, Little Bird. Let Running Fox and the others carry them. If she cannot, I will take them.” Sandor shot a murderous look Running Fox’s direction and then abruptly left.

It did not take as long as she would have thought for an entire village pack up and leave, but by the time the sun rose high in the sky, the people were lined up and ready to travel, eagerly waiting for Bronn to lead them to the winter camp.

Sandor rode up to her on a huge black stallion outfitted with a sturdy travois covered in furs. The people began murmuring around them. Sansa glanced around, wondering what was about to happen.  “You come,” Sandor dismounted from the horse and took her by the hand. “Lie down, Little Bird. You not well enough to ride yet. I will carry you.”

“On this?” Uncertainly she gestured to the travois.

“Yes.” Sandor pointed to it. “I made it for you to ride.”

The camp was watching, including the chief. She saw Bronn anxiously glance between her and Sandor. Warily Sansa stepped forward, trying to hide that fact that she wanted to closely survey it before climbing inside.  She had never seen a travois up close, nor one that was built in such a manner. Instead of looking offended, Sandor seemed very pleased; he eagerly stepped aside and allowed her to examine it while pointing out the features he added to it.

The travois looked well-built, with thick rawhide ties and sinew reinforced, fur covered hickory wood for her comfort.  Sandor had clearly put a great deal of thought into it, Sansa realized, and she was touched by the gesture. Not wanting to do anything that could be perceived as disrespectful, Sansa drew his head down and pressed her forehead to his in thanks, her actions causing another flurry of conversation among the crowd.

Suddenly Sansa feared she had done something to offend them, but Sandor allowed her affectionate gesture, resting his head on hers and placing his hands on her shoulders. After a moment he moved away and cast a fierce look to the people around them. The talk stopped at once.

Gently Sandor urged her to lay down, the man clearly pleased with her response. Sansa allowed herself to be settled on it.

“Come now, it is time we leave.”

After he carefully tied the straps around her, he then remounted, keeping the horse at a slow but steady pace. Surprisingly the motion was rather smooth and comfortable, and the travois flexed and bended easily with the terrain.  She was glad he had gone to the trouble of making it for her, for Sansa was not looking forward to spending hours on horseback. To Sansa the travois was preferable to the rocking and pitching of a wagon, and soon she settled herself into the nest of furs he had fashioned for her and went to sleep.

It took ten days to reach the winter camp. During the trek, the tribe only fully stopped to sleep; even the meals of dried meat, berries and flatbread were eaten while on the move. The scenery changed drastically as they moved deeper into the Black Hills: thick pine forests blanketed the granite landscape. The snow was deeper there, too, but the icy, bracing wind that swept across the plains no longer reached them and so it actually felt somewhat warmer there.

Sandor rode silently, his demeanor fierce and unyielding, with his war lance at the ready. Each night he checked her wounds, which surprisingly were healing well despite the constant movement. When they laid down to sleep, he curled up by her side, stroking her skin as they talked, but he never pressed her for anything more.  

When the tribe reached a spacious mountain meadow next to an alpine lake, Bronn halted the people and the tribe immediately went to work setting up camp. Most of the warriors went out to scout the area, but Sandor stayed behind, searching for what she did not know.

They finally stopped in a tall stand of pines by the tributary. Seemingly satisfied, he turned to her. “Good? You like this place?”

“Yes,” Sansa concurred. “It’s very pretty.”  After helping her up, Sandor immediately set up a new tipi from luxurious buffalo hides. He worked quickly but thoughtfully and she was impressed by his efficiency.

Watching him, Sansa couldn’t help but be distracted by the way his muscled body rippled and flexed with every movement. Though there was snow on the ground, in no time Sandor shed his robes and began working bare chested, the sight of his magnificent build causing her to blush deeply.

Running Fox smiled at her and murmured softly. Sandor glared at her but said nothing. 

Quietly Bronn rode up beside her. It unnerved Sansa that he could appear out of nowhere as silently as a cat, but he seemed friendly enough. “He took it from the largest buffalo the tribe had ever seen,” Bronn smiled at her. “He saved it. No one knew why. He was waiting for you.”  He grinned knowingly.

Sansa smiled in return. “I am very grateful that he did.”

“You will be very warm inside, very warm.Want to know what Running Fox said?”

“Yes,” Sansa glanced at her and smiled. “Will you explain it to me?”

“She said the people are proud of the medicine you are making with Three Hounds.” Bronn grinned at her.

“How do I say thank you?”

“Philamayaye.”

“Feel a maya ye.” Sansa slowly enunciated.

Bowing, Running Fox smiled broadly before she began unpacking their things.

Sansa turned back to Bronn “Your English has improved, Bronn Blackwater.”

“I have practice. Margaery Yellow Flower likes to talk.”

“That she does!” Sansa laughed in agreement. “Why does Running Fox not unpack her own tipi?”

“She is a servant of Standing Bear, and his daughter.” Bronn struggled through the last word. “A Pawnee woman.”

Startled, Sansa stared at him with her mouth open.

“She was a war captive.” Bronn shook his head.  "Father took her."

“Is she free to leave if she wants now, as his daughter?” Sansa asked quietly. “Can she marry among the tribe?”

He got down from his horse and leaned in close to her. “My father took her in place of our sister. You were given to us to replace our women. But you ask too many things. It is not polite. You must learn to be quiet even if your mind is not at ease.”

Wordlessly Sansa agreed, all the while she wondered if she would ever grow used to their ways. Everything was so very different from the culture in which she was raised that Sansa felt overwhelmed at times. Though the most fearsome warrior in the tribe, Sandor also made a great effort to be a considerate husband, which was precisely the very opposite of what she had been told about Indian men.

In the old country, kidnapping was looked down upon and yet among the Lakota it was acceptable to steal women to replace lost relatives and make use of their labor. A man who doted on his wife was teased, even considered unmanly or tied to apron strings both back home and in Boston; yet here, it was perfectly natural for Sandor to be thus with her. Perhaps the Indians are more evolved in some areas than whites, she mused as she watched Sandor work, though _most certainly_ not in others. The realization left her confused, saddened, and feeling more alone than ever.

Swallowing hard, Sansa wiped the tears from her cheeks. Bronn offered her a pat on the arm, which Sandor noticed at once.

“What is making you cry?” Frowning, Sandor leaned down next to Bronn. “Did Bronn make words that made you sad?”

“No, he is kind to me,” Sansa reached out and squeezed her husband’s hand. “Please, do not be mad at him.”

Grunting, Sandor glared at Bronn, who by then had discreetly walked away. “You come and see.” He took her by the arm and led her inside the tipi.

Sansa was amazed by the attention to detail Sandor had paid to their new dwelling. Three long hickory poles were tied at the skin's radius from their bases using a tripod lashing. Long pegs made from stone were placed in slits at the bottom of the cover. Loops were sewn into the bottom and the base was completely closed to the ground to prevent drafts. The walls were lined with the downy fur of the buffalo while its skin faced the elements outside.

“Everything is very well built. Your brother told me you took this from the largest buffalo the tribe had seen,” Sansa put aside her thoughts of Running Fox and forced a smile as she ran her fingers through the fur. “You had saved it.”

Sniffing, Sandor nodded tersely and moved beside her. “For you. All this, I keep it for you.” His hand swept in a wide motion. “White Buffalo saw you would come to me. It belong to you alone, not like the other dwelling. My other wife was there, then you. Not this; this is yours new so you will know that everything belongs to you. The Pawnee will not haunt you here; I will keep you safe.You place our things where you want.” Sandor watched her anxiously, waiting for her to speak. But instead of talking, Sansa burst into tears and impulsively wrapped her arms around him.

Confused, he held her and stroked her hair while whispering in her ear. “Do you like it?”

She nodded and buried her face into his chest, breathing in his warm, masculine scent.

“Why the tears from you?”

“I am happy. I love it.” Sansa answered, and she truly did. She had never had a home of her own. Even the manse Joffrey had built for them was not really hers; Sansa had no say in anything related to its construction or design, not even the decorations or furniture. And while she never imagined living in a tipi, the thought and care Sandor had put into making her a warm, comfortable space in which to live impressed Sansa in a way that the most extravagant of homes could not. “It is very beautiful.”

Sandor gazed down at her, his mouth twitching into a smile at her words. “Like you.”

“Philamayaye. For the dwelling and your words, husband.” Sansa whispered, clasping her hands together excitedly. Standing on her toes, she then cupped his cheek, drew his head down to hers and kissed him lightly along his jawline. She felt the camp’s eyes on her but she did not care; neither did Sandor, it seemed, for he held her close and nuzzled into her neck. The women murmured approvingly, smiling at them.

The rest of the day was spent filling the tipi with their belongings. When they finished, Sandor had a pile of items left outside. He stood holding them awkwardly while avoiding her gaze.  There was a small Lakota warrior figure, a few items of women’s clothing and a dream catcher that Sansa deduced belonged to his former wife and son. Taking him by the hand, Sansa urged him to bring them inside.

“Come, I have made a place for them.”

“But this not yours-“ Sandor shook his head. Sansa had noticed his English worsened when he was upset.

“I know,” Sansa interrupted him and swallowed hard. “But Sandor, I do not want to get rid of the memory of your wife and son. Let us keep them here,” she gestured toward a cleared space the common area. “For you to remember and for me to honor them.”

Sandor’s deep grey eyes darkened as she spoke, and for a long while he stared at her with an intensity that made her very nervous. Wringing her hands, she finally lowered her eyes and quietly added: “I am sorry. I hope I have not made you mad or-“

“No, no.” Sandor finally answered, setting down the items and then drawing her close.  “You are wise and kind. A good woman. I am lucky you are mine.”

Smiling, Sansa allowed him to press her body tightly against his own, creating a warmth between them that she found both comforting and yet also left her longing for more. Sandor must have felt the same, for he set his jaw and gently moved her away from him.

Later White Buffalo provided them the finest white sage for Sandor to burn inside the dwelling. He moved the smoldering wick over every part of the tipi, leaving a sweet, restful odor in its wake.  When they were finished, Sandor brought in a large bundle and placed it in front of her. “You need more to wear.” He pointed in her lap.

“You brought me more clothes?” Sansa’s eyes widened as she untied the rawhide ties.

“Yes, clothes for you.” Sandor nodded. “You wear some under, some out, some to sleep.”

That evening, a heavy snow began to fall outside but true to Bronn's words, inside the tipi was very warm. Sandor vented the top and had a nice fire going in the center. After putting on the garments he had given her to sleep in, she sat beside him among the furs.

“Would you like to learn to read now?” She shyly offered, handing him the book he had saved.

“Yes, now.” Sandor agreed, settling her on his lap. “You show me.” She allowed him this intimacy, and thus began their first lesson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Lakota had the equivalent of the camp crier, who was responsible for telling the people when it was time to break camp. Bronn is that person in this story, as well as the one to choose the camp location as well as lead the tribe to it. Typically this would be done by two different people but I decided to give him both responsibilities.
> 
> I've had a few people express to me that Sandor is too good to Sansa in this story. There are two very good reasons for this which I think is important to establish: firstly, becoming a warrior in Lakota culture was not an automatic thing once a young man came of age; it was an honor bestowed upon them after various deeds of bravery by the chief. A man who would mistreat his wife or child would never be given that privilege. He would be considered a coward, for a man that doesn't concern himself with his own family's well being (both physically and emotionally) would never be relied upon to fight for and protect the rest of the tribe. 
> 
> Even in warrior nations like the Sioux, treating his family with love, honor and care on a daily basis was a way for a man to demonstrate that he was both willing and capable of protecting the tribe. So being a fierce warrior in battle was not considered contradictory with being a tender, gentle husband and father-the two are synonymous among Lakota. Secondly, a tribe is a family; and anyone who behaved as canon Sandor Clegane does-angry, bitter, wanting to kill his brother and prone to yelling at little red haired girls while drunk-would be expelled. 
> 
> I did not want to gloss over the terrible things that happened between the Pawnee and the Lakota, so I decided to include the character Running Fox to honor that. There will be more details included later, and just to forewarn you, it doesn't make either side look particularly "good" but it will be accurate nonetheless. 
> 
> Sandor would naturally believe that a new dwelling, made of the finest materials he could provide, is a sufficient "cure" to the bad medicine the Pawnee put on Sansa by giving her bad dreams. And the idea behind it holds true today, in that sometimes a change of scenery can help us move on from things that hurt us.
> 
> If anyone has any questions or would like more info, please let me know :D


	7. The Painting of the Tipi

With broad sweeping motions, Sandor drew the horsehair brush over the walls of the tipi. The weather was still warm enough during the day to sit out without a robe, so he had decided to leave the indoors and begin the work of decorating their dwelling with important tribal events from the previous year.

Sansa had not come out to see his work, as he had wished. She had chosen to stay inside, quietly weeping to herself the moment he closed the flap. Watching her grieve for her family had reawakened memories of Sandor’s own misery after losing his mother and sister. Experience taught him that only time and solace could mend Sansa Little Bird’s wounded heart-if it ever healed-and so Sandor ignored the instinct to console her and instead let her alone.

They had been in the winter camp for the turn of two moons and the snow storms of late fall had driven them inside the tipi. He had spent most of his time with her, learning how to read the tracks on the book. Sansa had been very pleased with him, and even said she was impressed he had learned a great amount in a short period of time. While Sandor didn’t enjoy the act of learning the tracks, he very much liked having Sansa all to himself. Her beauty nearly took his breath away, and she became very animated when they were alone together, eagerly curling her small frame onto his lap as she sounded out words with him. 

The book Sandor found on the prairie turned out to be a textbook on how to start a farm. It was a huge disappointment to him, for any man could observe the birds and squirrels and learn how to grow food; it was hardly a skill that needed so many words devoted to it. Sandor could not understand why any man would waste time reading the thoughts of another rather than learn by listening to an experienced person.

Sandor had hoped learning to read the tracks of the whites would give him some understanding of the way they thought, the inner workings of their minds. As far as he could tell, though, they looked to others to tell them how and what to think. “The book only answers the questions of the writer, not of the reader.” He grumbled irritably to Sansa about it.

“Well, such things often overlap,” she had smiled patiently. “Writing things in a book is a way to preserve stories, too.”

He supposed that could be true, but Sandor still disapproved. “That is what listening to the elders is for. This-“ he gestured to the book, “This is not a good way to learn.”

“Would you be willing to learn to read well for yourself before making a decision?” She had taken him by the hand.

“For you I will. And for the people.” Sandor had leaned down and kissed her hand. She had looked into his eyes and blushed so prettily for him and then raised his hands to her lips and kissed them in return. Flustered by her attentions and unable to concentrate any longer, Sandor told her reading time was over; it was time that he taught her to braid his hair. Truth be told, he did it just so he could feel her hands on him again.

She worked very hard a good wife to him, no one in the tribe could deny that. The women taught her how to treat the hides of animals and how to cook, but she was not given much work, for she was still healing.

It pleased Sandor that the women had all taken turns complimenting him on her embroidery and beading skills, and she had gifted him several fine war tunics. Sansa also was very quickly picking up the Lakota tongue, which delighted him immensely. And so when he tired of reading, he had her practice speaking to him.

Sansa had begun allowing him small affections such as holding her hand, stroking her skin, and holding her close on his lap, but it did not take long before Sandor desired more with her. In his heart, Sandor recognized that his feelings went beyond physical need; he was beginning to fall in love with her. It was both sweet and painful, for he had no idea if or when she would ever reciprocate his feelings, and patience was not one of Sandor’s strong suits.

Her bad dreams had ceased since they came to the winter camp. White Buffalo had assured him that he made powerful medicine with the new tipi and the sage, so powerful that the Pawnee could no longer hurt her. But witnessing her suffering made Sandor wonder if that were true, or if there was something more he needed to do. Regardless, he was determined to one day kill the Pawnee warrior who hurt her.

A woman’s shouting drew his attention to his brother’s tent. Bronn stormed outside, followed by his very angry wife. Rather than go inside the tipi as good manners dictated, Sandor decided he would discreetly observe Bronn and Yellow Flower out of the corner of his eye while he worked.

With his brow furrowed deeply and arms crossed, Bronn stood in front of his tipi as he watched Margaery Yellow Flower gesturing wildly at him. She was speaking very fast, and it was clear she thought no one understood her. However, Sandor had been practicing his English words with Sansa too, and he was surprised to discover he was able to understand most of what she was saying. It was not good.

“I am not some slave for the women of this tribe.” Margaery shouted, glaring at him. “Nor for you! I’m supposed to be your wife, not a dog to be ordered around! You want your clothes mended?  Then do it yourself!” She threw one of his tunics at him.

Suppressing a chuckle, Sandor continued his painting. His brother’s first wife had not been well behaved either, and it amused Sandor that Yellow Flower was similarly disposed. Sheepishly Bronn glanced at his brother and then toward his father’s tipi.  

Many of the people had come outside at the noise, staring and murmuring to one another. Walking quickly, Standing Bear gestured for Sandor to follow as he approached Bronn. “You must control your wife, my youngest son, and you must do it now.”

Sandor turned to the crowd. “Go back to your own dwellings.” He waved at the crowd. “It is a family matter.”

Looking around her, Margaery laughed haughtily. “What‘s the matter? You don’t want your family or the tribe to know you treat me like dirt?”

“My family can understand you, wife. Hold your tongue.” Bronn hissed at her.

Just then Sansa opened the tent flap, casting a sideways glance Sandor’s direction before she approached the quarreling couple. Her eyes were red from crying, but she looked as beautiful as always to him. Sandor straightened at the sight of her.

Respectfully Sansa stood before Standing Bear and lowered her eyes.  “Ateweya Ki.” _My father._

The chief nodded at her. “Daughter, are you well?” He asked in English.

“Yes. I am missing my family.”

Understandingly he nodded at her then turned to Bronn. “Settle this at once.”

After the chief returned to his tipi, Sansa asked quietly: “Margaery, Bronn-what is the matter? I could hear your disagreement inside the tipi, even with the flap closed.”

“It is not _our_ matter, Little Bird.” Resting his hand on her shoulder, Sandor moved beside her.  “Come away.”

Puzzled, she turned to Bronn and Margaery. “Yes, I know. I do not wish to intrude on a private matter but maybe I could help them. Bronn, would you allow me to speak to Margaery alone?”

“They have not asked for our help,” Sandor motioned to her. “It is not our place to offer it. Come back to our home.”

Grudgingly Bronn looked between the women, undecided, until Sandor gave his approval by nodding once. “Go then, speak to her. She is being unreasonable.” Bronn finally muttered and then went back inside.

Sandor whispered at her as she passed him: “Speak with Yellow Flower inside.”

“Yes, of course.” Sansa murmured, squeezing his arm as Sandor opened the flap for her.

Sitting down, Sandor resumed his painting. Painstakingly he decorated the back wall with the hunt where he downed the bull whose hide now served as their shelter.  Inside the women’s voices hummed, but he could not decipher Sansa’s words, only Margaery’s voice was clear.

Sandor knew it was impolite to listen in on a conversation to which he had not been invited, but he could not resist. Moving closer to the flap, he began smearing the paint in the dreamlike style as he worked on recreating the vision White Buffalo had of Sansa.

“I am tired of all this work!” Yellow Flower cried. “Aren’t you? It is ridiculous! And all the men do is sit around.” Margaery’s voice shrieked. “Bronn isn’t mean or anything but he doesn‘t help, either-even the physical with him isn’t worth this!”

“Shh,” Sansa hushed her. “You were the one who said we must learn to adapt, Margie. We _both_ need to work hard here to prove we are part of the tribe. It’s a very different life.”

“You don’t look so happy yourself,” Margaery went on. “So tell me, what has that beast done to _you_?”

“Sandor is _not_ a beast,” Sandor heard Sansa angrily retort. “He is good to me and I’m becoming very attached to him.”

“You’ve been crying.” Margaery said softly.

It was about time she noticed, Sandor fumed silently. Margaery had entered their home without even taking into consideration Sansa’s own feelings, and he wondered if she would ever learn her manners.

“Yes, I was crying because I miss my family.”

More words were said but Sandor could not hear them. Frustrated, he moved to the flap itself and began decorating it with the talismans of grizzly claws and buffalo horns, carefully chosen to denote the ferocity of the warrior who lived inside as well as serve as a warning to the Pawnee spirits who might come looking for his wife.

After a while, he heard Sansa reply: “I know it’s hard to cope, but the women here need time to get to know us. We are the outsiders, we must work to fit in. Eventually they come to respect us, I am certain of it, but I am afraid that shouting at Bronn is likely to make the situation worse for you.”

Smiling to himself, Sandor was proud of his wife’s wise words. She would serve the tribe well when he was chief. With her kindness and intelligence, the people would come to her willingly,  he was certain.

Sandor eventually moved on to the front walls of the tipi to depict the day he and Bronn found Sansa’s family. Using red ochre for her hair, Sandor next illustrated the moment she took his hand and let him lead her from the alders, the man choosing to place this piece right next to the flap at the very front.

“So what do you suggest we do?” He heard Margaery huff out.

Sansa answered: “Try to imitate their behavior with their husbands. And control your temper. Tell Bronn your feelings in a calmer manner, and not in front of the tribe.”

Several of the words Sansa used was unfamiliar to him, but he was grateful Sansa’s tone was softer than that of Yellow Flower. Whether her and Bronn were loving or fighting, she was always very loud, and Sandor feared his brother would go deaf living with a woman with such an earsplitting voice.

“How do you live with Sandor?” His brother’s wife demanded. “He’s far more rigid than Bronn and you don’t even see fit to take him into your bed!” Unable to control his inquisitiveness, Sandor inclined closer still, disguising his curiosity as paying special attention to depicting their first day in the winter camp when Sansa embraced him.

“For shame! I won’t hear you speak in such a way about my husband, Margaery.” Sansa’s voice shook with anger. “It is not my fault that you are having problems with Bronn. I will not allow you bring Sandor into it.”

“I’m sorry, Sansa, you’re right, I shouldn’t have said that. I’m just upset.” There was a pause. “Wait a minute, this is a new attitude of yours. Oh my god, it is because you’re falling in love with him, isn’t it?” Margaery nearly shouted in a tone fraught with disbelief. “Is that why you won’t hear a cross word said about him?”

“I think I am in love with him." She paused. "I _know_ I am.” Sandor heard Sansa admit with a soft giggle, the sound and her words warming his heart. “It’s crazy, I know, and far too soon for such an attachment, but I do love him. He is so good to me.”

Settling back on the stump, Sandor drew a deep breath, the man overjoyed by Sansa’s words. He could not speak, could hardly breath, so overwhelmed was he by her words. Hearing her declaration of love for him replaced the singular emptiness in his heart with the great love White Buffalo had foretold. It was a wonder to him that Little Bird defended him and spoke of him in such a caring way, for Sandor had not dared hope she would ever return his feelings for her. The long season of solitude that had been Sandor’s life ended in an instant; the love White Buffalo had prophesied was his at last. He would make an offering to Wakan Tanka for gifting him with her.

“What about Joffrey?” Margaery asked. “Don’t you love him anymore?”

Sandor did not know that name, for Sansa had never spoken of him. Had the Little Bird loved another man? Vaguely he remembered on the day he brought her into the tribe that Sansa had said she was engaged to another, but at the time he gave it no thought, for many women claimed such when taken captive. Considering that she had not once mentioned him since then, it seemed unlikely but he was determined to ask her more about Joffrey as soon as Margaery left. Sandor was certain the white man to whom she had been promised would never try to find Sansa. Even if he did want to reclaim her, Sandor was determined to fight to the death to keep her.

“I never did love Joffrey, Margie, you know that.” The sound of Sansa’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “My parents made the marriage, not me. Besides, I could never be as happy with anyone as I am with Sandor.”

At Sansa’s words, Sandor’s questions about Joffrey disappeared like smoke blown into the air. She was with him, that was all that mattered, and she loved him. She told her wasicu friend that she did, and that she was happy with him. The other person was not important.

Margaery started to make crowing sounds but he heard Sansa shush her.

“But Margaery, please be quiet! I cannot rejoice in it as you do because grief weighs so heavily on me that I feel guilty about it. And I don’t know if Sandor will ever feel the same way for me. Please, do not say a word to Bronn.”

“Oh, alright.” They talked more but Sandor no longer heard it. He was content to replay Sansa’s words over and over in his mind.

When Margaery finally left, Sandor went inside. “Sansa Little Bird, come.”

It was beginning to snow, but Sansa readily followed him outside to the front of the tipi. Staring in awe, she delightedly walked around the dwelling, taking in his artwork. “Sandor, how beautiful!”

Sandor’s mouth twitched into a smile. “You like it?”

“Oh yes, very much.” Sansa clasped her hands. “What does it all mean?”

“It is to record the important things of the year,” Sandor led to the painting he had made of her and him embracing. “Remember that day?”

“Yes,” Sansa blushed. “You thought it important enough to put on our home.”

“I do, yes,” Sandor took her into his arms.  “I love you, Sansa Little Bird.”

With tears in her eyes, Sansa laughed as she pulled him closer still. “As I love you, Sandor Three Hounds.”

“I want you to choose me, choose to be my wife.” Moving away from her, Sandor held out his hand, inviting her back into the tent.

Shyly she accepted his hand and let him lead her inside. “I want you as my husband in truth, Sandor. I choose to be your wife and give myself to you willingly, with all my heart.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was traditional for the Lakota head of the family to decorate the tipi with depictions of important events from the past year. Talisman were also placed as a sort of wind chime on the flap of the tipi as a way of warning uninvited people or spirits that they would be facing a formidable warrior once inside.
> 
> Sandor's views on Margaery are a direct reflection of the traditional culture. A woman was supposed to be soft spoken, quiet, respectful and obedient in front of others. In her own home, she had as much say as her husband on all matters, was in charge of the housework and all the provisions belonged to her, including the tipi; but in major decisions, the final say would be his. Men also were expected to control their tempers, keep their voices down and their emotions under control, both in the home and among the people. Children were raised in a great extended household so training and discipline was the responsibility of everyone in the family. Neither parents, grandparents, aunts or uncles would ever use hitting or spanking as a means of discipline, for striking a member of your own family was considered weakness. A man that could not "control" his wife's or children's behavior would not garner the respect of the men of the tribe because if he could not lead his own family, how could he be expected to lead the tribe? That is why the chief would insist his son get his family under control in front of the tribe, for, he too was expected to control his own, even after his children were grown and out of his tipi.
> 
> Anyone who got involved in family disputes was considered rude and ill mannered. No one would offer advice or help unless asked, and if people were arguing within the sight of others, it was expected that others would ignore it or go inside.
> 
> Canon Sansa's training and temperament would be far better suited to adapting to such a dynamic than Margaery, though many Lakota women didn't shine to it, either. :D And as the wife of the future chief, Sansa would be looked upon to advise the women and help them and she would not be expected to work as hard as the other women of the tribe, so Margaery's life and experiences would be very different from hers.
> 
> Sansa choosing Sandor has very significant meaning to the tribe. Accepting his hand and allowing him to lead her inside tells everyone theirs is a marriage of love, not arrangement.


	8. Mahansani

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter, the flu has sidelined me for a bit. :/

As she took Sandor’s hand, Sansa could feel the eyes of the tribe on them but she did not mind. It was important for them to see that Sandor was her choice, that they had built a relationship that transcended her serving as a replacement for his former wife or as the captive woman in need of protection.  

Margaery had told her how some of the women gossiped that Sandor had only chosen her because she was beautiful, but that a wasicu girl like her would never love a scarred man not of her own race. Nothing could have been further from the truth of Sansa's feelings; she loved him because he was kind and good to her, because he had given her a choice. The tribe needed to see their _true_ marriage, one given out of free will and based on love so that no one would ever question their relationship again.

Several murmurs of approval reached her ears, and the sound brought a smile Sansa's face but she did not turn her eyes from his gaze. When Sansa allowed him to lead her inside, Sandor’s eyes shimmered with an intensity of emotion that she didn't know the fierce man possessed. It was as though she finally glimpsed his true self, and she was deeply moved by his trust in her. After settling her among the furs, Sandor took Sansa’s face in his hands and stared into her eyes so earnestly that she flushed deeply under his attentions.

They remained that way a while, allowing their eyes and hands to speak where words failed them. Finally Sandor spoke. “I will give Father fifty horses tomorrow for you, my wife.”

Sansa knew that fifty horses were worth a vast amount of money. Still, she could not help but ask: “Why? You need not give anything for me, Sandor. I am already your wife.”

The burned side of his mouth curled into a smile as Sandor drew his face closer to her own. “You are worth it. You have been good to me. I want the tribe to know that I value you above all. Thečhíȟila. _I cherish you_.  I want them to see that we are married for love. That I love you, and that you chose me.”

Blushing, Sansa swallowed hard at his declaration: his words, so simply and yet so eloquently stated, went straight to her heart. “Yes, my love. If giving the horses will prove it, then I am very happy for you to do so.”

Gently Sandor laid her down among the furs, propping himself on one elbow as he laid down beside her. Sansa trembled under his silvery eyes, which hungrily took in every detail of her body. The intensity of his gaze felt like a physical caress, it was so intimate, and Sansa could not look away from him. Still, he did not touch her. Shyly she cupped his cheek and stroked his skin with her thumb to encourage him.

“We will not until you want to, wife.” Sandor allowed himself to smile as he spoke. "You do not have to give yourself to me if you do not want to. It is your choice."

“I do want to love you.” Sansa threaded her fingers through his long black hair and drew him closer to her. “I know it is soon but I am ready.”

“You are hurt still,” Sandor murmured while bringing her fingers to his lips.  After kissing each one, he looked into her eyes. “We can wait.”

“No, I do not wish to wait,” Sansa drew his head down to hers and brushed her lips against his. “Iyótaŋčhila. _I love you._ I want to share this with you, and I know you will be as gentle with me as you always have.”

Sandor's normally solemn grey eyes lit up at hearing her declaration. “Iyótaŋčhila, Kitala Zitkala.” _I love you, Little Bird._ Reaching up to her shoulders, he painstakingly loosened each of the ties of her dress until the garment fell free from her body. Fighting the urge to cover herself, Sansa felt a deep heat flush her cheeks as Sandor’s eyes devoured every inch of her, the man flicking his tongue across his lips slightly while he unhurriedly took in every detail of her body. 

Though Sansa felt far more exposed than she had ever been before, it was somehow empowering to show herself to Sandor in this way, to choose him as the man with whom she would share such intimacies. It was then Sansa realized that even back in Boston, she had not been given the freedom to make such decisions for herself. Conversely, as the wife of a Lakota warrior, there was a great deal of freedom to be enjoyed; and in many ways there was much more for her there than as a white woman living in so-called respectable society.

As his eyes travelled over her, Sansa was both embarrassed and yet strangely excited to have the fearsome warrior clearly enjoying the sight of her nakedness. Sandor’s breathing came in short gasps as his fingers finally ghosted over the curve of her breasts and stomach. Finally he allowed his hands to gently smooth over her arms and across her belly until coming to rest on her hips, though his eyes never left her own. Starting at her face, Sandor’s allowed his gaze to trail down to her breasts, then to her stomach, and finally settling at the joining of her thighs.

“Yaȟópeča.” _You are extremely beautiful._ “So soft, like the feathers of a bird you are, wife. Perfect.”

The feel of his tender touch on her body rendered her speechless for a moment and ignited something wonderful and warm that Sansa had no words to describe.  “Philámayaye.” _Thank you_. Sansa finally whispered back to him, shivering delightedly under his touch. A soft sigh escaped her lips as his large hands moved up her arm once more. “You are very strong and powerfully built.” She rubbed her hands over his chest and arms in a sweeping motion. “I am lucky to have such a fierce warrior as my husband and lover.”

Shrugging, Sandor smirked in amusement, though Sansa could tell he was very pleased with her praise. There was an unmistakable hunger in his eyes; nevertheless, Sansa also sensed tentativeness in the man. He was afraid she would reject him, and Sansa determined she would do whatever was necessary to reassure him. Tenderly she brought her hands up to cup his face, stroking her thumbs over both cheeks and allowing him to get used to her touch on the scarred side of his face. Flinching, Sandor trembled under her caress but did not look away from her. Holding his gaze, Sansa wanted him to understand that she desired him too.

“You are very beautiful, too, my husband.” Frowning, Sandor tried to move away but Sansa held him fast. “You _are_.” She insisted. “Look at me. Can you not see the truth of my words in my eyes?”

The fury in his eyes quickly extinguished as Sandor stared at her. “I see you believe that, Little Bird.” He muttered quietly and resumed stroking her skin.

"It is the truth," Sansa shivered again.

“Are you cold?” Sandor turned his attention back to her while caressing her shoulders and down her back. The snow was blowing hard outside and the winds gusted against the walls of the tipi, but Sansa had never felt warmer than she did then.

“No, not with your hands on me,” She blushingly admitted to reassure him. “I am most warm and comfortable.” Lightly Sansa allowed her fingers to trace the musculature of his abdomen and chest, her touch pricking goose bumps on his skin. Sandor drew in a sharp breath, all the while never taking his eyes off of her own. “So beautiful.” Lightly Sansa then brushed her lips against his jaw and nuzzled into his neck.

Her kisses caused Sandor to yield at once, and he turned his face toward her and then covered her mouth with his lips. She heard a low moan in the back of his throat, and Sandor tangled his hands in her hair, deepening the kiss for a moment before pulling away. When she opened her eyes, Sansa saw Sandor’s mouth curl into a smile. “Let me have you, wife.” Smiling into his kiss, Sansa nodded in agreement.

The patience and tenderness in his touch, the warmth of his lips against her skin, and the loving way he caressed every inch of her skin with his mouth, tongue and hands all spoke the depth of Sandor’s adoration for her.  So overwhelmed was Sansa by his attentions that she didn’t even notice that he had removed his leggings and breechcloth, but soon the feel of Sandor’s smooth skin writhing against her own had her gasping with pleasure and anticipation. Looking between them, she saw his glistening manhood, hot and hard and positioned at her entrance. Moving her hips against his, Sansa searched to ease the ache of desire between her dampened thighs by rubbing against the head of him. “Please,” she gasped against his skin. “take me.”

“I need you, Sansa Little Bird.” Sandor panted out against her skin. “I have to have you.”

Nodding her consent, sudden apprehension caused her to stiffen slightly. In response, Sandor pressed his mouth against the shell of her ear, whispering words of love and reassurance while he began rubbing the head and shaft of his manhood through the folds of her woman’s place and down the length of her slit.  Sandor's manhood was every bit as large as the rest of him and he pulsed against her with each movement, bringing a surge of wetness to her woman’s place.

“Yes, Sandor, please, more,” Sansa whined, the sound dissolving into a moan. She felt him chuckle in return but she did not care; so intense was the pleasure Sandor drew from her body that Sansa cried out his name as she moved against him with abandon.

“First you sing for me, Little Bird,” Sandor moaned low as he continued the thrusting until Sansa was soaked with arousal, until her nervousness bloomed in to pleasure and then steadily climbed to a primal, blinding need. Her thighs were clenching and shaking and with a sudden outcry Sansa wrapped her legs around his waist, allowing his manhood to sink into her as she reached her first completion.

“Yes,” Sandor gasped out against her neck while grasping her hips so she would not move any further. The slight pain Sansa felt soon gave way to an even more intense pleasure and she wriggled impatiently against him.

“More, Sandor.” Trembling, Sansa begged him to come into her again, and it was only then that Sandor finally turned over on his back and guided her to onto his lap.

Confused, she stared at him uncertainly until Sandor explained: “Like this, Sansa," he moved her body over him. "It will be easier.”

Could she really straddle him in such a manner? Sansa mused as she positioned herself over him. The thought soon left as soon as it came, for by then passion had overtaken Sansa to the point of no return. She no longer cared how she appeared to him, with her hair wild and her body heatedly moving over him. She no longer cared what the tribe would think if anyone could hear them as she sank down over his length with a passionate cry and began riding him with abandon. Within their tipi, there was only the two of them and the deep abiding love they shared; nothing else mattered to Sansa. 

After a little urging, Sansa shamelessly rode his length to her completion: once, twice and a third time. Secretly she feared he may be put off by her passion, but it seemed that her desire seemed to spur him onward, for Sandor gripped her thighs as he rocked into her and moaned loudly with each roll of her hips.  Finally Sandor reached his peak with a sharp cry, his back arched up off the furs and his hands clenching her breasts as his seed filled her completely.

Thoroughly spent, Sansa found there were no words that could truly express her love for him in that moment. After Sandor caught his breath, he tenderly cleaned her off and then gathered her into his arms and covered her with furs. Stroking her skin, Sansa felt Sandor tremble beneath her. “Mahasani.” _My other skin_ , He whispered into her ear over and over again.

Tears pricked her eyes at this, for once before Margaery had explained to her that a couple only used the term of endearment when they were connected to each other in all four areas of the self: spiritually, mentally, physically, and emotionally. “The meaning to each is defined throughout their lives as both are journeying together holding each other's hands.” Bronn had told Margaery during her Lakota lessons.  “When partners hold hands, their energies unite them as they continually define what _mahasani_ means to each other.”

At the time, both Margaery and Sansa had found it beautifully profound, nothing more. But now, lying in his arms, she knew there was no denying that they indeed had reached that place, and Sansa was confident they would continue to grow together as husband and wife.  “Mahansani, Iyótaŋčhila.” _My other skin, I love you._

Sniffing, Sandor buried his face into her neck. “Little Bird,” Sansa heard him whisper and felt the dampness of his tears wetted her shoulders as he pulled her closer into his embrace.


	9. The Gift

After they made love, Sansa shyly looked into his eyes and held Sandor to her breast while she tenderly stroked his scarred cheek. Though he could only feel the pressure of her fingers against his skin, Sandor found it soothing. No woman had touched him in such a way since his mother passed; not even his former wife had laid her hands on his scarring, instead preferring to look away from him whenever possible. At first Sandor believed she was shy, but soon the man discovered she could not bear the sight of him.

Sansa, too, was shy, as he knew most new brides to be, and yet she always looked him in the face. Even when faced directly with his scars, she did not show any revulsion, leaving Sandor very much moved. In truth, Sansa was so different from his former wife in every way possible that he, too, felt as though this was his first marriage, his _true_ marriage.   _Sansa Little Bird's love for me is the great love White Buffalo foresaw._

In truth, making love to Sansa had tapped into a deep well of feelings in the man which once freed, poured forth in a seemingly endless stream. Such openness was entirely unfamiliar to Sandor; it was not the Lakota way, to behave in such an emotional manner and yet his wife did nothing to discourage his state. He was ashamed that his tears wetted her chest and stomach. Sansa did not seem to mind his response to her touch; instead his young wife cradled him still closer to her, seemingly determined to comfort him. 

“Mahansani, Iyótaŋčhila.” _My other skin, I love you._ She whispered over and over again, the sound of her words bringing forth a swell of love and pride in the man.  The powerful intimacy they shared had quickly moved far beyond the carnal, fleshly fulfillment they had both enjoyed. It was as though each touch served to unite their souls as one; it was a spiritual experience, a gift from Wakan Tanka. So intense was his emotional and physical response to her that Sandor was convinced that Sansa had been sent to him from the Great Spirit, and that she was truly destined to become his.

His wife had never been with a man before him, that much was obvious, and it pleased him greatly that she had gone with him without hesitation-even eagerly. Her aroused response had ignited a war between Sandor’s body and mind, for he had been without a woman for so long that it was with great effort that he reined in his passion as he loved her.

Sansa was a beautiful woman, a woman of honor, and Sandor wanted to be gentle with her, to show her how dearly he treasured the gift that she had given so freely and passionately. Having experienced her love only made him desire her more, but Sandor was determined he would not press her or do anything that might dissuade her from expressing her desire for him as openly as she did during their first time together.

At some point, Sandor fell asleep but he could not say for how long. The tipi was covered with snow which blocked out most of the light.  Lost in peaceful dreams, Sansa had wrapped her arms and legs around him, entwining their bodies as they had slept. Chilled, he gently disentangled himself from her and lit a fire, then returned with another buffalo blanket. 

Climbing in beside her, Sandor nervously waited for her to awaken, the man anxious to see if she was well pleased with him. After Sansa stirred, she was shy and yet seemed very happy with him, for she immediately drew him into her arms and kissed him.

“Are you well?” He asked quietly.

“Oh yes, very well.” She lovingly  continued to kiss him and stroke his skin, and the feel of her warm, naked body against his own heated Sandor’s desire for her once more. However, he chose not press her, and instead Sandor decided to pull away, put on his breechcloth and bring her a meal of fry bread, chokecherry cakes and dried buffalo meat.

Thoughtfully he placed the tray in front of her.

“Hungry?” Sandor asked as he watched her eyes eagerly look over the meal.

“Yes, very.” Sansa blushed deeply as she sat up. Her furs fell away from her beautiful body, and Sandor was very gratified that she made no move to cover herself from him.  Seeing his wife with her cheeks glowing, her hair in disarray and her body on display made Sandor more eager than ever to take her a second time.

Shyly Sansa smoothed down her curls and pinched her cheeks before she took her portion of food. With great difficulty Sandor remained patient as he watched her eat, a small smile playing across her lips whenever she caught him staring at her.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Sansa bashfully averted her eyes. “I must look a fright.”

“No. You are most beautiful.” His eyes heatedly roamed over her curves. “Yaȟópeča.” _You are extremely beautiful._

Blushing deeply, Sansa thanked him.

After they finished eating, Sansa coyly patted the furs beside her. “Won’t you come back to me, Sandor?”

Delighted, Sandor moved beside her, his eyes hungrily travelling over her as he did so.

“Do you know what you are asking, Sansa Little Bird?” His voice came out rougher than usual.

Clearing his throat, Sandor watched her closely for any signs of apprehension. But Sansa Little Bird showed none; on the contrary, she was most enthusiastic.

Biting her lip, Sansa shyly nodded at him and turned the covers down. “Yes, I do. I want you, husband.” She patted the place beside her and laid down, waiting for him.

Eagerly Sandor took her into his arms and leisurely he began making love to her. Reveling in her body, Sandor kissed his way down to her stomach, rubbing it tenderly. “I hope we make a child soon.” He whispered against her skin. 

“Yes, that would be beautiful.” Sansa giggled. "Do you want another son first?"

The question confused him, for the gender of the child was something the Lakota never considered before it was brought forth. Shrugging, he answered: "Girl or boy, it does not matter. Both are a gift from the Great Spirit and to us." It suddenly occurred to him that she might be asking if he merely wanted a replacement for his lost child. Cupping her face in his hands, Sandor stared into her eyes. "I want to father _your_ child, Sansa."

"And I want that too, so very much."

Elated that she shared his desire for family, Sandor lowered his mouth to hers. When he pulled back, he saw tears glistening in Sansa's eyes and so he gently wiped them away with the broad pad of his thumb.

As Sandor continued to kiss down her neck, a sudden desire overtook him; he wanted to taste their lovemaking and soothe her slit with his tongue. Dropping to his knees in front of her, Sandor lifted her legs over his shoulders. Sansa inhaled sharply and blushed crimson but she did not stop him. Kissing her thighs, Sandor let Sansa see that he enjoyed looking at her as he made his way to her slit. Drawing his tongue over the length of her opening, Sandor then focused on the point at her apex. It surprised her, Sandor discerned, both what he was doing and the pleasure it brought her, for Sansa jumped slightly and keened out a small noise.

“Are you sure you want to kiss me _there_?” Sansa panted out in disbelief.

Her reaction was natural, for she was new to marital life after all, but he wanted to taste her just the same. Still, it was her place to say what she wanted, and so he paused and stroked her thighs, allowing her to get used to the new sensation. 

 “I want to love _all_ of you, Little Bird, all of you. Will you let me?” Sandor rasped against the inside of her thigh and then kissed her mound with an open mouth. Wordlessly Sandor anticipated Sansa’s consent and it was not long before he heard her whisper: “Yes, oh yes. Again, Sandor.”

She was a feast laid out before him, and his patience and self-control was nearing his limit, but Sandor remained gentle as he resumed his ministrations. Taking his time, he ran one finger along her parted slit and Sansa let out a little sob of pleasure. It pleased Sandor to please her, and so he redoubled his efforts, tasting her while stroking her inside with his fingers. Sansa began wriggling her hips against his tongue and hand while desperately clinging to him. Only after she reached her completion several times did Sandor allow himself to take her again.

For three days they stayed inside their tipi. No one disturbed them. Sansa was delighted to see the traditional gifts of food left outside, and the two alternately ate and loved for the duration.

On the fourth day Sandor dressed carefully in his finest clothing.

“Should I go with you?” Sansa asked as she meticulously braided his hair. “I would have them know that I have chosen you, too.”

“No, it is not our way.” Sandor leaned in and kissed her, then rested his head on her forehead. “I will go.”

Sansa took out a new war tunic from the chest and held it up for him. “I made this for you. It is for a special occasion. Will you wear it?”

Sandor carefully looked over the beadwork while Sansa anxiously waited. Kissing her hands, he nodded. “I will wear it with honor, wife.” Lifting his arms, he took off his original tunic and changed into the one Sansa made, then he kissed her again.

She bounced on her heels she was so excited, and animatedly Sansa explained what each pattern represented. When she finished, Sandor kissed her one more time and then took his leave. Black Elk helped him round up fifty of his best horses and ready them for presentation to his father. The tribe took notice of his actions, with many following him as he made his way to the tipi of the chief.

“Father. Are you inside?”

Standing Bear came out and stood before him. “What can I tell you today, my son?”

Sandor followed his father’s gaze to the horses.

“I wish to give these fifty horses to you Father, for Kitala Zitkala.” He announced as the tribe looked on. “They are the best I own. If you wish to ask for more, speak now and they are yours.”

Members of the village gasped loudly around him. _Good,_ he thought, _let them see that I love her._ _That I value her.  That I expect them to treat her as I do._

Bronn and Margaery, in various states of undress, peeked out of their tipi and grinned at him. Briefly he wondered if they knew about Sansa’s gift before he did, but Sandor remained solemn to show his father that he understood the significance of his actions. Hurriedly Bronn came outside and stood beside Sandor while Margaery went in to visit Sansa.

“Little Bird made this for me,” Sandor announced. “Who here can claim to have one so beautiful?”

“She is most generous and most talented,” Bronn lightly ran his hands over the beadwork. “It is a very fine gift brother, very fine.”

While his father looked over his clothing, Standing Bear’s wives giggled behind him. _They must have helped her_ , Sandor fought down his smile. _I will reward them later._

Apparently satisfied, Standing Bear then moved on to the herd. The chief looked over the horses with care, studying the teeth of one, the hooves of another, until he had thoroughly inspected each one. The tribe quieted to hear the response of their chief.

Finally Standing Bear returned to Sandor. “You do not think it is too much medicine, my son, to give your finest horses for Sansa Little Bird? One horse would be enough. Gift me with one. I will be content.”

“I will gift you with twenty five, then; no less.” Sandor offered in return. “I want to show that I love her. That I value the gift you have given me, and that she is willing and has chosen well.”

The tribe collectively gasped once more.

“Then I would have ten my son and no more. I do not wish to offend your generosity.”

Sandor began to counter but Standing Bear placed his hands on his son’s shoulders, silencing him. “And of my ten you will give the best one to your wife.” He held his finger up in Sandor’s face. “This is the most powerful medicine I have ever seen made for a marriage, my son.”

"Allow me to gift your wives two horses, Father, for their help with Sansa Little Bird."

Nodding in agreement, Standing Bear then placed a large bundle of tobacco into Sandor’s hand. “For your home. That is all I have to say.”

Bronn and the rest of the tribe began calling out their cheers as Sandor accepted it and then returned to the tipi. White Buffalo stepped forward and handed him a sage bundle. Sandor bowed his thanks to his father's wives and the medicine woman before lifting the flap of the tipi.

Margaery beamed at him as he entered. “I hear you did some pretty good honeymooning, Three Hounds.” She winked at him and left.

Blushing, Sansa lowered her eyes and began playing with the fringe on her leggings. She was wearing her finest dress, he noted appreciatively.

“Please don’t be angry.” Sansa asked softly.

“I am not.” Sandor tipped her face up to his, for he knew it was common for women to talk in such a way, and he was proud his wife had been happy enough with him to share it. "We have no secrets among family."

Seemingly relieved, she kissed his hands.

Kneeling, Sandor handed Sansa the tobacco. “From my father to bless our home.”

“It was very thoughtful.” Leaning up, she kissed him on the cheek, surprising the man.

“And sage from White Buffalo.”

“Oh, how beautiful.” Sansa fingered the leaves. Sandor then lit the bundle and allowed the smoke to dance over their belongings inside of the tipi.

* * *

That evening, Sandor heard Bronn call to him. “Brother, are you inside?”

“Come in and sit.” Sandor answered.  Quietly Sansa offered him her place closest to Sandor, which he declined.

Watching as his brother ran his hands down the front of his leggings immediately set Sandor on edge. “Sansa, you will visit Margaery.”

“Of course.” Sansa anxiously glanced between the two men before taking her leave; but true to her polite nature, she asked no questions.

“What is it?” He asked Bronn as soon as she left.

“Come. Father has called a council meeting. It is time to raid.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a Lakota husband, the weight is on Sandor to please his wife sexually and to take care of her needs, even providing her with food and drink after their lovemaking. He would take her speaking of their lovemaking with Margaery as a compliment and as proof that he is a good husband.
> 
> Though a patriarchal society, the Lakota consider men and women equal and put very little stock in the genders of their children. The preoccupation with having sons in other cultures puzzles them. The Lakota believe there are four genders-male, female, feminine male, masculine female. Traditionally, being two spirited is not something someone can claim for themselves; it is a designation from a medicine man or woman, as it is a spiritual matter and a large responsibility for them. 
> 
> Also, I have written the exchange between Sandor and his father as a demonstration of the polite way to exchange gifts. Even though they are a tribal society, a great deal of importance is placed on formal speech and respectful, polite behavior. As always, if you have any further questions, please don't hesitate to ask. :D


	10. Time to Raid

* * *

Anxiously Sansa made her way through the fresh snowfall to Bronn and Margaery’s tipi. Despite the inclement weather, the people all seemed to be milling about in small groups and talking quietly. A discernably restless tension tainted the atmosphere of the tribe, which was so unlike the normally friendly, familial disposition amongst them that Sansa’s hands set to trembling at once.

“Margaery,” Sansa called in English while rubbing her hands together against the cold. “Are you inside?”

“Yes, Sansa, come on in,” Margaery answered as she opened the flap. Sansa noticed that her friend was once again half-dressed, and despite her apprehensive state, she smiled to herself.

Several women standing by the fire nearby snickered and whispered: “Bronn Sapa Mni wa skan wichayazipa.” _Bronn Black Water is a busy bee._ “Cate iyapa Zi Wanahca wahchaca.” _He keeps Yellow Flower blooming._  

Ducking her head, Sansa began to giggle in spite of herself. It was true, Bronn and Margaery rarely left the tipi and when they did, it was obvious what they had been doing to anyone who looked at them. When Sansa entered the tipi she struggled to keep down her laughter. “Bronn came over to speak to Sandor.” She began with difficulty.

“Yeah, Black Elk came by while we were…well, you know.” Margaery winked at her as she tied the straps of her dress. “He did the same with Bronn.”

“He asked me to come over and visit, otherwise I would not have disturbed you.”

“So Sandor gave you the dismissal, huh? I’m not surprised. He doesn’t want to upset you.” Margaery laughed and shook her head. “The men around here seem to think you are such a delicate creature. They don’t know you’re more wolf than bird.”

She noticed Margaery almost sounded jealous. “They didn’t want me there.” Sansa said simply as she watched her friend closely. “Despite the fact that it’s freezing outside, everyone is mulling about. What is going on around here?”

“Oh I’m sure it’s nothing.” Margaery dismissively waved her hand at Sansa while she dug through a basket. “Forgive me, Sansa but I’ve got to focus on finishing dressing so we can go.”

It was unlike Margaery not to dish when given the opportunity. “Go where?” Sansa asked, her alarm steadily rising as she spoke. “Where are we going?”

“The chief’s tipi.” Margaery stopped tying up her leggings and gazed at her. “Grab another buffalo robe, will you? It’s still snowing and I don’t want to catch cold.”

 _Why would we catch cold at the chief’s tent? He has the biggest fire in camp._ Keeping her thoughts to herself, Sansa knelt down to help her. “Why are we going to the chief’s tent?”

“Didn’t Sandor tell you?” Margaery shook her head and sighed. “The council is meeting to decide when and who will go up against the white settlers and Pawnee.”

“What?” Sansa stammered. Surely her friend didn’t mean that the Lakota would go and do the same to other settlers as the Pawnee had done to them. “What do the warriors want with the settlers and the Pawnee?” When Margaery didn’t answer, Sansa jerked her by the arm to stop. “Margaery, explain this to me, please!”

Her friend shrugged. “Bronn didn’t say, and God forbid I ask a question.” She huffed. “I’m sure the men will tell us when they return. But for now, let’s go. Come dear, we need to get there early if we want a good spot outside to listen.” She affectionately pinched Sansa’s cheek.

Blankly Sansa stared at her, wondering if it was possible that Sandor would do such a thing. Seeing her distress, Margaery added: “Bronn and Sandor are _sure_ to go, Sansa, for they are the chief’s sons. Sandor is considered the finest warrior in camp. You don’t think this is his first raid, do you?”

Blinking back tears, Sansa shook her head.

Margaery put her arm around her. “None of that now. Let’s go and hear what’s going on for ourselves.”

As they hurried toward Standing Bear’s tipi of meeting, the sounds of the men’s voices grew louder. There was a great crowd gathered outside as well, with people jockeying for position. Margaery took Sansa by the hand and led her into the crowd nearest the flap.

“It is time for us to make war on the white settlers who pass through our lands. I have seen it. And we are in need of raids on the Pawnee.” White Buffalo’s voice echoed softly among the masculine tones within the tipi, which suddenly silenced at the sound of her speaking. “We are low on foodstuffs and horses from their raids on us during the fall.”

“That must have been when Bronn and Sandor found us.” Margaery whispered. “They were chasing the Pawnee back to their own territory when they came across us, Bronn said.”

Sansa supposed White Buffalo's words were true, for she remembered seeing Black Elk take the food out of the Stark’s burned out wagon and load it onto his horse. What he could not carry, the other men took.

After staring into the fire, Chief Standing Bear looked up. “Talk to me of the whites.”

“The whites trespass on our lands and on the lands of our enemies alike.” She tossed a garment in front of the council, and even in their tight position, Sansa could recognize it as one that belonged to her mother.

Margaery identified it too, for she gasped and pulled Sansa close to her.  

Furious, Sansa pulled out of Margaery’s grasp and started to march inside, but a young brave named White Hawk stopped her.

“You must not enter.” He held his lance to block her entry. “No women may go before the chief during a council unless invited.”

“Leave me be! I am Three Hound’s wife!” She shouted in Lakota as she wriggled out of his grasp. “That dress belonged to my mother! I want it back!”

“Turn loose of her,” Margaery swatted at him. “Sandor will have your head for this!” Several of the older women came over and began to try to help Sansa get away from White Hawk. Patiently he held on to her.

“Little Bird, Three Hounds won’t like it if you go in,” he calmly answered, though he looked at her sympathetically. “Only White Buffalo is allowed because she is our medicine woman. I will tell him it is your mother’s and that you want it back. He will bring it to you.”

Nodding, Sansa stopped struggling. “Thank you, White Hawk.” He gave her a small smile and then ducked inside the tipi. She watched as he moved beside Sandor and whispered in his ear.

As he listened to White Hawk, Sandor’s eyes turned charcoal with rage. At once he stood up and snatched up the garment. “Where did you get this, White Buffalo?” Even from far away Sansa could see his breath was ragged, and he gripped his fists at his side to calm himself.

“Oh, shit,” Margaery whispered to Sansa. “Now she’s gone and done it.” She took Sansa by the hand and wriggled between the people to the seam of the flap. “Am I not the wife of the chief’s son?” She asked the women around them in Lakota. Immediately they moved away, providing Sansa and Margaery a good view between the leathers.

Lowering her eyes, White Buffalo calmly answered: “It was traded to me for medicine by Spotted Tail.”

Sandor’s jaw tightened further. “This material belongs to my wife. It was her mother’s dress.” Sandor turned and looked around him. “The Pawnee left it on the prairie. I want all garments like this returned to her. I know Spotted Tail and the others found them. I will trade for them.”

Standing Bear quieted the assembly. “They will be returned tonight, my son, and they will be left outside of your dwelling. When you arise, Little Bird will take whatever she chooses, and what she does not will be left. You will not trade for what rightfully belongs to your wife. It is her place to trade for it.” Several of the warriors glanced at each other but said nothing.

“This is all I have to say.” Standing Bear added for emphasis. “Speak to me of the Pawnee.”

“They take without asking and offer nothing in return, just as the whites do,” White Buffalo went on. “It is the will of Wakan Tanka that they both are taught that this cannot be done.”

The medicine woman’s pronouncement excited conversation between the men. Sansa couldn’t understand them, they all spoke so fast, but Margaery picked up Bronn’s voice calling for there to be silence.  “White Buffalo speaks truly. There is no denying she has powerful medicine and that we should listen to her carefully. But attacking the whites will surely bring more. It is a delicate matter that requires more discussion.”

“Bronn Blackwater thinks ahead, and that is good. But I believe we will find no whites during this season,” Black Elk commented. “They come during the warm moons. They are a weak race. They don't ride well. They don't shoot well. They're dirty and not likely to survive the winter. In the warm moons, we will speak more of the whites. Let us speak only of the Pawnee now. ”

“Black Elk is very practical, and I hear his words. It is true we should not waste talk on what we need not concern ourselves. But we must speak of both whites and Pawnee.” Chief Standing Bear announced. “The whites will keep coming. They hunt our buffalo with no regard to our rights. I do not know if we will be able to drive them out. But these are our lands and we will fight the whites.”

Sansa and Margaery glanced around the tipi. All the men agreed.

“For now, we will only raid the Pawnee,” he declared. “We will take horses and food, nothing more.”

A general murmur of assent went up through the assembly. Iron Horse, an old warrior who now served as a story teller, stood up. “A great chief like Standing Bear should not lower himself to teach lessons to the whites or the Pawnee.”

Standing Bear nodded. “I will not go.” He looked toward Sandor. “You will go.” Then he turned to Bronn. “And you will go.” The chief then gestured to the young brave White Hawk. “And you, too, will go. You men choose who will go with you. Take no more than four and do not stay out longer than necessary for we have word from the Cheyenne that the Pawnee are looking for our camp.”

Hearing this, Sansa turned toward Sandor, who looked as though he wanted to speak. “Ready your things for Sunday at dawn. That is all I have to say.”

“What were those last words?” Margaery turned to her.

“Sunday at dawn. The Lakota say: Aƞpétu Wakȟáƞ Áƞpo kiƞ. The day of power at dawn.” Sansa gripped her friend’s hands tightly. “Do you think the Pawnee will come for us here?”

“No, silly. Look around you.” Margaery affected a smile as she gestured toward the warriors. “We are safe here.”

“But they will be gone. Are you sure we will be safe?” Sansa asked softly.

“Of course I am.” Margaery scoffed lightly, though her eyes worriedly glimpsed toward the mountain pass above them as she spoke. “Now, go back to your tipi. Sandor and Bronn will be looking for us.”

* * *

Sansa hurried back to the tipi, all the while hoping Sandor did not see her. After laying out a selection of berry cakes and buffalo jerky, she sat amid the furs and waited for him to return. She did not wait long, for Sandor soon entered the tipi, carrying her mother’s dress behind his back.

“Will you eat, my love?” Sansa smiled up at him, pretending not to notice.

“I brought you this,” Sandor gruffly handed her the garment and then sat in front of her. Sansa saw that it was her mother's favorite gingham dress, now torn and stained with blood, and at once she began to cry.

Lifting her into his arms, Sandor held her while she sobbed out her grief. It was the first time since she arrived at the tribe that she gave free vent to her feelings, and once Sansa started, the tears were difficult to stop.

Sandor remained silent, the man stroking her hair gently as he held her. Once Sansa settled down, he carefully dried her face.

“There is more I must say to you.”

“I already know,” Sansa sniffed. “You will be leaving at dawn on Sunday. Margaery and I were listening outside.”

“You are safe here." He took her hands in his own. "I have asked Black Elk to protect you and provide for you while I am gone.”

“I do not want him,” Sansa answered petulantly. “I only want you. Must you leave me?”

Sighing, Sandor took her by the hand. “I will only be gone seven sunrises. You must trust me.”

Angrily Sansa turned away from him. “It does not matter, does it? You will go regardless.”

“What does not matter?” Sandor heatedly gripped her arms and turned her to face him. "Speak to me."

“It does not matter to you if I am safe.” Sansa began to cry again, though her tears were from anger now. “I heard your father say the Pawnee may come. What if they are looking for me?”

“They will not come here.” His complexion paled as he regarded her. “And while I am gone, I will find the man who hurt you and I will bring you his scalp. He will not frighten you in my own home, I swear it.”

The very idea brought a deep queasiness to her stomach. “Sandor, I-“

“No!” He shouted. “He will not frighten you here! I will end it!”

Before Sansa could reply, Sandor stormed out of the tipi and into the frozen night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Despite being romanticized by movies such as Dances with Wolves (which I love, btw) the Lakota were a warrior nation and often raided the supplies of other tribes, such as the Cheyenne, Ute and also white settlers. And yes, they took scalps and mutilated their enemies' bodies so they would go into the afterlife maimed and unable to make war on them again. It was up to the chief to what extent these took place but history shows that it was extensive. Eventually though, as the settlers (and the US cavalry, who protected them) expanded into their territories, most of these rival bands would unite against whites in general and Custer in particular.
> 
> This meeting is another example of polite discourse that made up Lakota councils. Also, it was a great honor to be asked to protect the family of a warrior while he was gone, though Sansa doesn't appreciate it yet. :D


	11. Little Birds and Wolves

Sandor looked up at the night sky. Closing his eyes, he drew in a deep breath of the bracing winter air in an effort to calm his temper. The smell of wet pine needles and smoke filled his nostrils which brought a smile to his lips; it was a scent his mother always loved and he thought of her whenever he smelled it. He liked to think she sent him the odor, to show him that she still thought of him too.

His mother had been like Sansa, fair of skin with deep auburn hair and sparkling blue eyes. She stood out among the rest of the people but that never kept her from fitting in with them. She had adapted to their way of life, and that is what Sansa would have to do; that was all there was to the matter.

Sandor never recalled his mother nor Smiles A Lot getting upset when his father left to hunt or make war; in fact, they would always see him off with his favorite foods and new clothing. Sandor's mother in particular shed very few tears, and the tribe had respected her for it. Sansa, on the other hand, had reacted as though he were abandoning her. After some thought, Sandor realized that he remembered his mother as she was many years after her capture and marriage. She had much more time to adapt than Sansa Little Bird by the time he was old enough to remember his father leaving the tribe to hunt and make war.

Margaery seemed to go along with it; why did Sansa not do likewise? Sandor did all he could to reassure her that would never leave her without an order from the chief, but she did not seem to believe it. Even after recalling his mother's behavior, Sandor still could not comprehend why Sansa did not understand that to go with a war party was a great honor for their family, and one that distinguished him as a good husband. It seemed obvious enough to him. When she reacted to his words, Sandor tried to make it clear that he did it to protect her and to provide for her as well as the rest of the members of the tribe, but she was too angry to hear him.

As her husband, it was his responsibility to understand her, all of her; but one thing Sandor would not accept was his wife's fear of the Pawnee in his own tipi. Sandor discerned that the source of Sansa's fear was not that he had not made strong medicine; in truth, he was not certain he knew what caused her fear. Still, Sandor was determined to do whatever was necessary to make her feel safe.

Sandor thought Sansa would feel better when he told her he would kill the Pawnee men who attacked her. Instead, Sansa had looked horrified when he told her he would bring the Pawnee's scalp to her. Sandor regretted that he had forgotten all too late that she would not appreciate such a gesture. He still meant to kill the men but he would not give her them. He would bury the Pawnee scalps together with her torn gown, and thus bury his wife's suffering that was linked to them.

His first wife loved gifts, Sandor recalled. Perhaps Sansa's anger would leave if he returned to her with a fox fur pelt or the skin of a late denning grizzly. Better yet, he would bring her a wolf pelt and explain his vision to her. He would make Little Bird see it was the will of Wakan Tanka that they would live many years together, that she need not fear their separation or the Pawnee or anyone else.

After much deliberation, Sandor decided it would be best to bring her the wolf pelt before he left. He would reassure her with his vision as well. He only had a few days to find the animal before he left, and so Sandor prayed to the Great Spirit to gift him with a wolf for his wife as a sign of his protection.

Silently Bronn moved beside him. His brother barely made a sound, and Sandor perceived his presence rather than actually heard him. He always envied Bronn this ability, for his brother was the only man he had ever known who could silently move into a herd of horses and ready his rope without the animals so much as pointing their ears at him.

"Margaery said Sansa was very upset by the announcement," his brother casually began. "Is she better now?"

"No, she is very upset with me. She does not see my leaving as an honor." Sandor growled out. "She fears being in the village without me."

"Did you tell her Black Elk vowed to watch over her?" Bronn glanced sideways at him. "That he is a powerful warrior?"

"Yes, I told her those things but she does not want him. Only me." Sandor shook his head. "I cannot understand her thinking."

"Father predicted she would react in such a way." Bronn scratched his chin. "White women who come to us often do, he said."

"But why?" Sandor asked sharply. "I gave her the best warrior and she doesn't appreciate it, or the sacrifice Black Elk makes in staying behind. She reacted as though I am a poor husband for leaving her."

"As a white, she doesn't understand." Bronn calmly answered. "Mother didn't either. She only wanted Father with her, you recall."

"I remember. I wonder why."

"I asked him once."

"You did?" Sandor met his gaze. This was shocking news, for it was unheard of for a Lakota boy to question his father on such intimate matters.

Bronn nodded.

"And what did he say?"

"He said that my mother only felt safe with him because he was all she had left; she had admitted it to him one day when she was full of tears. She feared losing him and me and feared what would happen to her if we died." Bronn turned to fully face Sandor. "The white women amid us are a lost people, brother."

"What do you mean?" Sandor eyed him with a frown. "I have given Sansa a new home and the best clothing to be found in the tribe. I treated her wounds myself. I have offered her the first choice of food. How can you say she is lost?"

"Neither she nor other wasicu women are welcome amongst their own kind after being taken by us because of the lies the white holy men tell." Bronn lit his pipe. "Did Grey Owl never speak of it to you?" He passed it to Sandor.

Sighing, he thought back to his childhood while Bronn silently watched him puff smoke rings into the air. Finally, Sandor answered: "Yes, Mother said the whites were taught they would burn in the hot place their god had made to punish them for laying with an Indian man, or any man not of their own race." Disgusted, Sandor spit on the ground. "The talk of fools. It is hard to understand the wasicu. Why would they believe such a thing?"

Bronn shrugged. "I do not know, but that is why their family abandons them when they come to us. They fear the hot place of their god."

Sandor raised his voice. "Then I will make war on all white men who wear the black garments and white collar for making my wife believe such lies!"

Sympathetically Bronn nodded. "And I will join you in war on them brother. But you cannot expect her to forget such things in just a few moons. Here, there will always be reminders that she and Margaery are not Lakota-and our ways will never be their ways, even when they come to accept them. It is to be expected that Sansa Little Bird would fear losing you, fear being left alone in the world. She is still new, and very young besides. You must have patience with her."

Sighing deeply, Sandor nodded and handed his brother a small pouch of tobacco. "For your home."

"Ask me what you wish, brother," Bronn offered. "I will tell it."

"Does not Yellow Flower have the same fear?"

"She does, but does not react like Sansa Little Bird. She hides it, which is odd, because she does not hide anger." Bronn admitted. "May be the difference is that Margaery knows how to use a rifle. If Sansa knew how, maybe she would fear less."

A sharp laugh tumbled from Sandor's throat at this. "If Sansa could use a rifle, I know several men who would not have escaped the day we found her-including us."

Bronn laughed out loud at his brother's remark, the sound causing the dogs to suddenly begin barking. "True enough, that."

In the distance the lonesome call of the wolf echoed loudly. "I will go to her." Sandor sighed deeply before returning to the tipi.

When he opened the flap, Sansa was already in the furs, lying on her side facing away from him. The sight of her deep red hair laying like a shawl over her bare skin temped him to go to her at once; instead, Sandor took his time undressing before he lay next to her.

Gently Sandor laid behind her and lightly ran his fingernails over her skin from shoulder to wrist. "Do not be angry with me."

"I am not merely angry, I am afraid." Sansa sniffed. "I do not want to lose you."

Sandor longed to kiss her but she remained with her back to him, so he nuzzled into her hair. "You cannot lose me, Sansa Little Bird. We are one."

He saw goose bumps rise on her skin. Encouraged, Sandor placed his lips against the shell of her ear. "I have seen it in a vision long before I found you."

Curiously she turned over to face him. "You had a vision of me?"

Sandor nodded as he caressed her cheek with the back of his hand. "In the sweat lodge you came to me as a red wolf among the yellow leaves. I did not understand what it meant. Many times I sought an answer but none came. Yet you continued to visit me as a wolf with blue eyes and a pelt as red as sunset."

"How do you know the wolf was me?" Sansa whispered, staring deeply into his eyes.

"When I sought the vision, I felt it was of my future wife and yet she was a wolf. For many years I did not understand. But when I saw you in the yellow trees, I knew you were the wolf of my visions. In my heart I felt it."

Blushingly Sansa started to speak but he placed his finger on her mouth. "Sansa, you fought the Pawnee and survived. You howled and fought us off like a wolf in the trap." Sandor laughed low. "I knew you were the gift Wakan Tanka had shown me. That you were meant for me."

Frowning slightly, Sansa bit her lower lip. "You believe that I was meant for you?"

"I know it as surely as the sun will rise." Sandor tipped her face up to his and brought his mouth close to her own. "White Buffalo told me that you would bring great love to my life. And you have."

Sansa's entire demeanor softened as he spoke, and unable to resist, Sandor bent to kiss her. Easily she yielded to his touch, but when Sandor pulled away, she still seemed troubled.

"You have brought me great love too, Sandor. I, too, have felt as though we were meant for one another," she admitted, her words leaving Sandor speechless and bewildered. He stared deeply into her eyes as she spoke. "I have never loved another as I love you. But I still fear that I will lose you. I have lost everyone in my life that I have loved. I feel like I am cursed! I cannot lose the man I love."

Her admission was overwhelming to him; was the curse she feared another lie from the wasicu holy men? Is that what scared her, that she was doomed to continue to suffer throughout her life and eventually lose him because she had lain willingly with a Lakota man? After a moment's thought, Sandor asked: "Do you worship the god of the white houses the settlers go into? The one who has a symbol of two trees crossed?"

"Yes." Sansa swallowed. "But I have not practiced my faith in a long while."

"That does not matter, your god will remember you." Sandor replied. "Tell me, what does he say of such curses?"

"He doesn't speak of them. But if you are bad you go to a place called hell. It is something I fear."

Her words confused Sandor even further. "The burning place?"

She nodded.

"There is no burning place." Sandor answered, his tone somewhat angrier than he intended. "And dead people cannot feel."

"How do you know?" Sansa raised up on her elbow. She was not challenging him, just merely curious; Sandor could tell by her expression.

"It is only in the black book of the settlers that we hear of such things." He quietly answered. "No one has been to the burning place to tell of it. Not even our enemies know of such a place. Your god has more important things to do than burn dead people."

"That is very true. I never looked at it like that." Sansa replied solemnly.

Sansa did not seem to know what had happened to her parents and siblings after they passed into the afterlife. It was no wonder she was so very fearful of death. He could not let her ideas go without comment.

"I do not wish to dishonor your parents by saying that." He felt it best to begin this way. "We believe people who die go into the spirit world at peace where no pain or unhappiness can touch them. That is where the wife of my youth and my son reside."

Sadly, Sansa caressed his cheek with a small smile. "Your beliefs are comforting, Sandor. I hope my parents and brothers are in your spirit world." After a while she asked: "Do you not fear death?"

Sandor shook his head. "It is part of life. My mother and son are there waiting for me. If I die before you, I will wait for you and I will make sure my son will wait, too. And if you die, then you will wait for me. But we will not die. We will have children and live well into the autumn of our lives."

At this Sansa began to cry in earnest. Holding her close, Sandor had many questions but did not want to upset her further and so he remained silent. "Death takes up too much space in your mind because you are in mourning. I will go with you to White Buffalo tomorrow." Sandor finally offered. "She has seen a long future for us together in the stones, one with many children. She will help you."

Eagerly Sansa agreed; much to his delight, the young woman held him close and kissed him in relief. He was relieved too, for he did not want to quarrel with his wife. Sandor thanked the gods for their help, for he also felt as though he understood Sansa a bit better.

They made love all through the night. The next morning, Sansa was the first one up, so eager she was to speak to White Buffalo. Sandor dressed and carefully laid out several fox furs with which to gift the holy woman.

When they arrived, White Buffalo was already outside painting on a dried buffalo hide spread before her. "Three Hounds and Little Bird, I knew you would come." She gestured for them to sit. "What can I tell you today?"

Haltingly Sansa began speaking in Lakota, but as she grew more emotional her words came out in English. Patiently Sandor translated for her, the man realizing the depth of her anxiety as she spoke. White Buffalo never took her eyes off of Sansa and often reached out to squeeze her hand as she relayed all her fears to the holy woman.

When Sansa finished, White Buffalo began to speak. "Little Bird, the spring after Sandor's wife and son left, I began seeing you. He was in mourning and so he could not see you. But Wakan Tanka sent him many visions to convince him that you would be coming to him." She sighed deeply. "You are white and I am not sure your people see visions. But Little Bird, you must trust that Wakan Tanka will protect you and Three Hounds. He led Three Hounds to you when the Pawnee wanted to kill you and he saved you from their arrows. He has planted love and made it grow between you. You will have many seasons of your life, you and Three Hounds both. One day, you will find the wolf within you. When you embrace it, you will no longer fear. Will you allow yourself to believe?"

Anxiously Sandor watched Sansa's face. After many moments passed, she smiled at White Buffalo. "Yes, yes, I will work at it. I want to reach the place you have spoken of, White Buffalo, for Sandor and for our future children."

The woman smiled at her. "Good. I will help you."

Later that day, Sandor went on the hunt with Bronn. High above their camp, he tracked a lone wolf and took it for his wife. Carefully he dressed and treated the pelt and then packed the rest of the animal as a gift to White Buffalo.

On Sunday, Sandor rose at dawn and allowed Sansa to dress him. Though she trembled the entire time, Sansa outfitted him in a fine new war tunic, leggings and breechcloth. Sandor was very pleased with her efforts.

"White Buffalo said all warriors' families provide them with new clothing before," Sansa shakily drew a long breath before continuing, "before they leave. She taught me how to make you ready in a way that will please the Great Spirit."

"Your tunics are good, very good." Sandor kissed her tenderly several times to reassure her. He knew she could not bring herself to say: "before they go to war" and Sandor let it go unsaid. Smiling, Sansa seemed pleased by his response. Sandor then sat cross legged in front of a highly polished plate so he could begin painting his face.

Sansa watched, fascinated, as Sandor smeared the black charcoal and fat mixture down to his chin, covering all the exposed skin thoroughly. Then he drew the yellow paint under his eyes and across his nose in a thick line, the effect bisecting his face. Finally, he used white kaolin to depict hand prints on both cheeks. He could see she was curious but was struggling to conform to custom and not to ask questions.

"The black is for strength." Sandor offered with a smile. "It tells the Pawnee I am a powerful warrior. The yellow above it says I have led a good life and am ready to die in battle if I have to. The white hands mean I am a good fighter hand to hand."

"It is most fear inspiring," Sansa commented, tilting her head as she examined his work. "And yet beautiful."

Pleased with her response, Sandor went back to work. When he was he finished, Sansa then braided his hair, tied on his breastplate and then laid his grizzly claw necklace over the tunic. Finally she tucked his medicine bag into his tunic. "You are ready."

"You have done well, wife," Sandor whispered to her, resting his head on her own. "I love you. I will miss you." He kissed her hand tenderly while gazing at her approvingly. She was beautiful even in her sadness. He would miss her lovely face, would miss sharing the furs with her and feeling her soft skin against his. He was proud of the medicine she was making, and that she was so willing to be taught. She would be well respected in the tribe. Sandor longed to say these things to her but as his gaze reached her eyes, the words would not come.

"I love you and I will miss you, too." Sansa whispered in return, her voice growing ever more tremulous as she spoke. "May the Great Spirit keep you safe, husband."

 _White Buffalo must have taught her that._  Her words moved him, for Sansa made powerful medicine by blessing him. Tears glistened in her eyes but she did not falter in her Lakota words.

"Black Elk will keep you safe," Sandor kissed her hands. "He will teach you to use Yellow Flower's rifle."

Nodding, Sansa offered a small smile. "Thank you. I know how to use a rifle but I will practice." Carefully Sandor lit the white sage and smudged it over her body first and then his own before covering his lance, shield, knives and tomahawks in smoke. When Sandor finished, he gestured to her that it was time for him to leave.

Outside the drums resounded loudly in the camp. Chief Standing Bear stood at the head of the tribe, observing the proceedings with a solemn air. People were rushing about, leading the horses forward in preparation, but Sandor paid them no mind. His only focus was his wife. As he stood holding Sansa in his arms, whispering words of love to her, he realized leaving was far more difficult than he anticipated; he would be leaving part of himself with her. Forcing down his thoughts, Sandor rested his forehead against her own until Bronn approached with Sandor's horse.

"I will return to you, Sansa Little Bird." Sandor announced before mounting his black stallion, the man not daring to look behind him as he rode away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any source of unhappiness in a Lakota marriage was deemed the husband's responsibility to correct, regardless of who may be "at fault" or where it originated. Men took this responsibility very seriously. Also, it was important for me to show the culture shock from both Sandor and Sansa's perspectives. Sansa sees Sandor's leaving as abandonment, not a spiritual responsibility to provide for the tribe and he sees her fears as essentially a lack of faith. Afraid =/= weak in Lakota culture.
> 
> Intuitive interaction is very important in Lakota society. For example: Bronn understands his brother is outside to calm himself from an argument and joins him quietly-even the way he offers advice is entirely neutral, not directed at his brother; this is considered polite. In turn Sandor cannot ask Bronn specifics of his marital relationship but Bronn offers because he discerns his brother wants to know more.
> 
> Bronn and Sandor's opinions to Christian ministers and church doctrine was a very common Native American belief-and still is. They feel very connected to the Great Spirit and do not fear divine retribution at his hand. Also, the Lakota did not fear death and viewed it as a natural part of life, so this is why Sandor cannot understand Sansa's fear until Bronn puts it into perspective. The gifts Sandor brings to White Buffalo are not a required "payment" for her advice but rather just good manners and a demonstration of appreciation.
> 
> There was great spiritual significance in every portion of the preparation for war and raiding and Sansa's participation would be considered both essential and a huge step forward in their relationship. Sandor, in turn, demonstrates to the tribe that he appreciates her by being openly affectionate, which was very rare. A husband's willingness to be demonstrative was open praise of his wife and would lead to her being highly esteemed both by men and women.


	12. Warpath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To all of my readers, please read the notes below before continuing on to the chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning-this chapter contains mentions of violence, threats, and the commonly known ways Native Americans made war. It is not graphic or gratuitous, but it is there. I am not proud of this part of history and it certainly does not make my characters (or my people) look good, but to remove it altogether would be dishonest. I consulted my cousin ( a Lakota holy man) at length as to how to present it and I have strived to do so in a way that leaves it to the reader to decide what to make of their actions as well as that of the Pawnee and white men. Addressing the fact that the Lakota are family men and yet also fierce warriors capable of terrible violence is essential when relating a story about a warrior band such as the Lakota people and so I felt it too important to skip over.
> 
> I am open to all questions and comments so please do not hesitate to contact me. :)
> 
> This chapter also contains a limited amount of racial slurs commonly used against Native Americans and those who were born half white, half indigenous. Sadly, many today still use the words, as my half Navajo husband has heard them many times.
> 
> For the comfort of my readers I have added asterisks (*) next to each paragraph that contains either violence (*) or racial slurs (**) so they can be avoided for anyone who do not want to see them so they can still enjoy the rest of the chapter.

When the men stopped to water the horses that day, Bronn handed Sandor a heavy bag. Removing the grizzly headdress from the buckskin pack, Bronn then helped Sandor put it on.

“Thank you brother.” Sandor bowed slightly to him.

“I thought you would want this brother.” Bronn shrugged. “I did not bring it earlier because Yellow Flower thought Sansa Little Bird might become frightened by it if she saw it.”

“Was Margaery scared of your wolf headdress?”

Bronn laughed out loud. “She shrieked like an eagle when she saw it.” The men around them also smiled. “She would not touch it or help me.”

“I had to help Black Water with it,” grinned Rain In His Face. “She did not want to come into the tipi so long as he had it on.”

His words reminded Sandor of Sansa, and how she cried throughout the night after she saw her parents die. “There is no laughter in fear.” Frowning the men into silence, Sandor tossed Bronn a pouch of tobacco.

“Thank you, brother for bringing it and also for the consideration you have shown my wife.”

“Now you are ready, brother.” Bronn smiled broadly as he carefully ran his hands over the headdress. With their leader now properly attired, the men eagerly headed out on the raiding path.

* * *

Each night after he prayed for his wife, Sandor laid out his weapons and looked over each one carefully. Though he had a rifle that he had long ago taken off of a cavalryman, he preferred the old weapons. There was powerful medicine to be made in using them, and Sandor took great pride in crafting each one himself. A gun could jam in the cold, or one could run out of bullets, but Sandor trusted his own weapons and he slept better knowing they were at the ready.

The men in the village admired the way Sandor went about carefully choosing the wood for his arrows, honing them and setting each tip with care. The work brought great honor to both Sandor and Standing Bear, for it showed his deep respect of the old ways. He selected only the toughest sinew for his bows and always set the head of his own lances, singing his prayers for their strength and accuracy as he worked.

The other warriors did likewise, but many preferred the rifle to the old weapons. Spotted Tail, however, was lazy. He would not practice with the old weapons, a thing Standing Bear had admonished him about many times. He could not hit an animal with an arrow or fight with a knife. All he could do was set bullets into a rifle and shoot, though his aim was true. He was brave enough, but sloppy in battle and had been wounded many times.

Sandor would not have brought him along if his father had not insisted. Black Elk also wanted Sandor to take him.

“He is very angry over your wife’s belongings,” he told Sandor in private. “He has spoken many bad things about her. He may mistreat her if he is in camp while you are gone.”

*“Then I will cut out his tongue and chop off his right arm!” Sandor had roared angrily.

Bronn had calmed him: “He would not dare with Father there.”

Black Elk had not disagreed, but neither did he seem reassured. The next day Sandor agreed to take him. His sudden acquiescence had piqued his father’s curiosity, but Sandor gave no explanation for the change.

 Later, Standing Bear came to him. “If Spotted Tail speaks ill of you or your wife any more, I give him to you, my son.”

Sandor figured Bronn must have told his father, or else Black Elk did, and he was glad of it. So far the man had behaved, though Sandor kept an eye on him. On the other hand, he trusted the rest of his men: Long Claw, Swift Horse, Rain In His Face, Gun In The Water, and Bronn had all proven themselves in battle. The other two, Fast Pony and Lighting In The Sky were just boys. White Hawk was young too but wise beyond his years and had a respect for the old ways. He also had spoken up for his wife and so Sandor was pleased to give the young man a chance to distinguish himself.

Sansa was never far from his thoughts. Her shy smiles, warm touch and loving ways made him long for her. During the day he had to forcibly put her out of his mind, lest he miss an important track or sign while they travelled.

Every night she came to him in his dreams, holding out her arms to him and calling to him. At first it pleased him, for Sandor took it to mean that she missed him, but after giving it more thought he began to worry. Was she in distress? Did she call for him to return to the village and come to her aid? Sandor prayed on the matter at length but still the man had no answer. Increasingly he grew more and more disconcerted by the nightly occurrence.

The weather held for them and yet it still took the men three days to get to the Pawnee food stores. It was an important part of raiding to get a sense of his natural surroundings to make sure they had the blessing of Wakan Tanka. Long Claw and Swift Horse returned, claiming they had seen few Pawnee warriors guarding the food.

He was not sure if he should put stock in their finding, for certainly their best warriors would not sit out in the open. Looking skyward, Sandor crumbled a handful of dry leaves into the gust and assessed the movements of the debris carefully.

When the wind was in their favor, Sandor gave the order to attack. Immediately he found the Pawnee storehouses were not heavily guarded which puzzled him, but in the melee he did not have time to ponder what it might mean. After a short but intense battle, the Lakota band easily killed the Pawnee warriors, whose party was mostly made up of new, untested men just out of boyhood. After thanking Wakan Tanka, Swift Horse and Long Claw collected the large cache while the other men finished up the warriors.  

One of the Pawnee braves leapt onto Sandor’s back and drew his blade across his throat. It was a foolish but bold move for the young man, for he was half Sandor’s size. His bravery cost him dearly, for his knife got hung up in Sandor’s grizzly necklace, and he was dislodged just as easily as if Sandor were brushing off a gnat. After rolling the young man over, he hit him with the flat side of his axe. A boy that brave deserved a clean death, Sandor decided, but just before he delivered the death stroke, he noticed the young Pawnee somehow looked familiar to him.

His curiosity made him decide not to kill the boy just yet and so Sandor subdued him instead.

“Who are you?” He asked the man in the Pawnee language.

“How is it you speak my tongue?” The young brave spat back. “And why should I answer the questions of my enemies? It is not for me to tell you anything!” He then began a high pitched chant recalling all his deeds in battle. Being that he was so young, there was not much to tell, and unimpressed by his death song, Sandor turned away.

“He looks just like Running Fox.” Bronn commented in Lakota as he kicked the man in the ribs to quiet him. “Perhaps he is her brother.”

After watching him a bit longer, Sandor agreed and so he decided to answer the boy.

“My sister, Running Fox, taught me how to make Pawnee talk,” Sandor answered, quieting the boy at once. He stared at Sandor in shocked silence. “She was once Pawnee but she has left off the ways of her people. My father brought her to us.”

*“Your father stole my father’s daughter!” The brave shouted angrily. “My mother died mourning for her! I am her youngest brother, Long Bow, and you will die for what you have done-you and all your men. We will burn your tipis and rape your women and steal your children!”

At this point, it was nothing more than bold talk, but his words displeased Sandor greatly. Frowning, he knelt beside him and stared into his eyes. “You cannot have her back. She is Lakota now. But you deserve a good death.”

*Releasing him, Sandor allowed Long Bow the chance to reach for his weapon before he let out a war cry and slit his throat and then crouched to watch the life blood drain from the Pawnee’s neck.

“Do you not want to take his scalp?” Bronn asked quizzically. “He was a fierce boy.”

Slowly Sandor shook his head. “I do not want it.” Running Fox did not deserve to lose her brother-she had lost everything else and Sandor felt regret that he had to kill the boy. He had lost his sister and mother too, and Sandor would never forget what it felt like to experience such loss. He had also avenged his sister and mother when he was the boy’s age. Bending down, he stared at the dead boy sadly while the Lakota warriors stood around him and watched.

“Why is your heart bad, brother?” Bronn asked softly. “You gave him a good death. You had no choice. He would have killed you if given the chance.”

It was true; and under other circumstances Sandor could have taken the boy as a slave or sold him back to his people, but the brave had made war on him in front of his warriors and Sandor had no choice but to follow through.

The boy looked very young as he lay in death among the snow covered grass; Sandor guessed he was probably the same age as his beloved Little Bird. He thought then of Sansa being taken from her parents, and his own mother too. It renewed his hatred for the Pawnee as well as the buffalo hunters.

Lost in his thoughts, Sandor was roused by the weight of the puzzled stares of his men; he had war to make and he could not spend all day staring at a dead Pawnee boy and remembering the past. Rising slowly, he determined he would offer to buy his sister’s freedom when he returned.

“There was no honor in killing our sister’s brother,” Sandor answered simply. “Even though he was very brave.”

His remark excited much comment among the men, but Sandor quickly silenced them. “Enough! We have more important worries. What do you think he meant by his words that our men and women will die?” Sandor asked the men instead. “I wonder if they have a war party forming.”

His brother merely shrugged. “I believe he only meant to incite fear. He knew you were about to kill him and he did not even finish his death song.”

“Leave him intact but I give you his scalp, brother, for Running Fox. She may want to bury it.” Sandor solemnly answered. “I fear the boy I killed has medicine. He was not afraid and perhaps Wakan Tanka made sure we came across him to tell us of the Pawnee’s plans for attack.”

“If he had medicine he would not have died.” Gun In The Water commented. “But it makes sense they would be planning an attack, for I have never seen the Pawnee storehouses so poorly guarded.”

Nervously Rain In His Face glanced between the brothers. “It is hard to say. Regardless, we should take these things and go.”

“Take no more than necessary.” Sandor ordered the warriors. “We did not come for blood.”

Bronn decided not to take Long Bow’s scalp and instead carefully packed his weapons, knowing his sister would recognize their design and might want to keep them. He then cut a long lock of the boy’s hair for her and then covered his body with rocks.

“For Running Fox.” Bronn said in answer to their puzzled expressions.

Rain In His Face and Gun In The Water frowned at him but Bronn paid them no mind. Pleased, Sandor did not question him in front of the other men. He could not tell his brother not to take the scalp but he was glad they were in agreement.

“This might be bad medicine, taking his things.” Gun In The Water stated.

It was a family matter; they owed the warriors no explanation for what was none of their business, and Sandor glared at the men until they turned away.

“Know your place.” Sandor added for emphasis, and his men submissively lowered their eyes.

When they were finished packing the foodstuffs, he went on to send Long Claw and Spotted Tail with two travois heavily laden with foodstuffs back to the Lakota winter lodge and the two boys ahead of them with the warning that the Pawnee may possibly attack.

* * *

 As they made their way back toward the high country, they saw a thin line of black smoke cutting a vertical swath in the sky above the canyon. “Only whites make smoke for everyone to see in country that does not belong to them.” Sandor shook his head and sniffed deeply. “Let us look closer.”

The Lakota men crawled on their bellies toward the flat crag overlooking the canyon floor. Below they spied four buffalo hunters huddled next to a meager fire. Several yards away there was a wagon overloaded with fresh bloodied buffalo hides and tongues. The sound of flies buzzing reached their ears even from their position above. It was bitterly cold in the canyon and it puzzled Sandor that they would choose such a spot to make camp.

Gun In The Water scowled distastefully. “Very bad medicine. The men waste the buffalo meat and do not know how to treat the hides. They have no respect for the animals they kill. So many bloody hides in that condition will draw animals. It is no wonder the whites cannot survive. Their own foolishness kills them.”

“You words are true. I spotted many fresh lion tracks that were headed below.” Sandor replied as he squinted at the men, one of whom was dancing about the fire in a haphazard manner.  “With game scarce, it will only be a matter of time before one is hungry enough to attack the men there.”

“What is he doing?” Gun In The Water asked. “Is he calling to their god or is he mocking us?”

“They do not know we are here and I do not believe their god has dances that the whites use for prayers. I think the men are sick on the burning water.” Bronn gestured to the bottles strewn about the camp. “It makes them act with even less sense than usual.”

“Why they drink it is just another wasicu mystery.” Rain In His Face sighed. “It is hard to believe such people thrive.”

“Maybe they drink it because it gives them visions.” Gun In The Water scratched his chin.

“Tell me: what sort of visions do white men have?” Sandor asked curiously. He wondered if any of the men knew the answer; perhaps a vision woman had told them. No one replied.

One of the white men stood up and began hooting loudly and dancing around their fire.

**“How, savage!” One of the men held up his hand. The others laughed loudly.

Sniffing, Bronn shook his head. “They are mocking us but they do not know we are here.” He made to raise his lance but Sandor stilled his hand.

“Wait.”

“The hides are fresh, brother.” Bronn’s eyes lit up. “We can follow the wagon tracks to the animals and pack the meat for the people. It will be far more than what we have taken from the Pawnee.”

Nodding in agreement, Sandor replied: “You speak well, brother. Gun In The Water, take White Hawk and find the animals after we finish these men. If the meat is good, pack as much as you can carry on the travois. We will treat it after we see about the buffalo hunters.” He turned to Bronn. “You come with me. And you, too, Swift Horse and Rain In His Face.” Solemnly the men assented and went back to their horses.

Crouching low, Sandor watched them for a bit; he wanted to be certain the white men did not know they were there; if the men were ready for them, it would be easier to wait until the moon was up to take them. After Sandor felt sure the buffalo hunters were mocking them and did not know they were being watched, he gave the signal.

“Burning water or not, they have no right to mock our ways or use us as their joke. And they will not live to do so for much longer.” Sandor raised his war lance and turned his horse toward the trail leading to the canyon floor.

For a long while Sandor, Bronn and Rain In His Face surveyed the buffalo hunters from behind the large rocks surrounding the camp. “What sort of fools camp where there are so many hiding places?” Bronn whispered.

Shrugging, Sandor gestured for them to move forward. As the white men drank more of the strange water, they moved further away from the guns and it was then that the three Lakota charged. The battle was over before it began, for the white men were clumsy and drunk and, judging from the way they fought back, unaccustomed to war.

It never failed to surprise Sandor how easily they could kill wasicu men, even the soldiers. They were always armed far better than the Lakota people and yet rarely did the men get ever get off a shot. Rain In His Face was always the fastest in battle, and he had killed three of them before the men even realized there were enemies in their camp.

*Bronn speared one of the hunters with such force that the man was pinned to the ground and yet he did not die right away; instead the buffalo hunter talked at length despite the war lance protruding out of his ribs. It was such an unusual experience the men wondered among themselves what it meant.

*Normally they would have finished him and ended his suffering, but Bronn convinced them to wait: he thought that Wakan Tanka was using him to tell them something important, and so he sat to listen to him while Sandor and Rain In His Face took the scalps and rifled through the belongings of the other men.

“He takes a long time dying,” Sandor said after a while. “I wish he would be quicker about it.”

“Patience, brother,” Bronn put his finger to his lips. “He keeps talking of the Pawnee but I cannot make sense of the way he says some of his words. He has some kind of slant in his words but it is not like the one Yellow Flower or Little Bird’s. It is most unusual.”

Sandor cocked his head and listened to the man’s ranting.

**“Just kill me, you red bastard!” The man tried to spit his direction. “I’ll see you in hell! The Lord will send you there, you wait and see!”

“He is a Texan.” Sandor announced after a while. “I recognize the slant in his words. And he speaks of the burning place of the white god.”

The other warriors laughed ruefully at this.

“A Texan?” Gun In The Water asked pensively. “He’s a long way from home.”

“He is probably lost, the filthy old fool,” snorted Swift Horse. “Texas is home to the Comanche, not these men. They took it from the people.” Wincing, he wrinkled his nose: “He smells as bad as the rest of the whites. We cannot keep any of his belongings for the stench.”

“How do you know he is a Texan?”  Gun In The Water persisted as the man continued yelling insults. If there was something important to be learned in the white man’s slant, he didn’t want to miss it. “What is it about his words that tells you this?”

Sandor was losing patience with the buffalo hunter. “I have heard the Texan settlers make white talk before when we have crossed them. Many of the Texas rangers have brought their stinking cows north to start ranches.” Glaring at the man, he added: “The Comanche have driven them out of their lands and we will drive them out of our own. They take without asking just like all the rest of the whites.”

In English, Sandor spoke to the man. “Buffalo hunters killed my mother. I have made war on them ever since.” Spitting, he then turned his back on the man in the ultimate act of disrespect.

**His statement seemed to rouse the buffalo hunter, and so he began carrying on louder still. “Kill me you red bastards!”

Sandor refused to look at him any longer. Watching the man, Rain In His Face wrinkled his nose and shook his head. “I have never seen a man, red or white, who makes as much noise as this Texan. No wonder the Comanche killed so many. There is no honor in his death. It is like killing an insane person. He is a coward. Kill him and be done with it.”

“No, I am not finished listening to his words.” Bronn leaned closer. “Brother, he is saying they passed a large Pawnee war party but escaped them. That is why they were celebrating.”

That made no sense to Sandor. Why would white men celebrate such an accidental occurrence?

Bronn continued: “He is angry that they did not escape us and that their luck ran out and wishes us all to go to the burning place.”

Obstinately Sandor stood with his arms crossed beside Bronn. “Your death will come soon enough. Tell me: what direction were the Pawnee going? And how many were there?” He asked the startled buffalo hunter in English. The man had not seemed to notice the English words before but now he stared at Sandor with a terrible, burning hatred. Unimpressed, Sandor levelly met his gaze. “Speak, buffalo hunter.”

**“Twenty warriors headed into the high country, you damned half-breed, on the warpath to kill your people! All the men painted up, ready to fight.” The man sputtered blood as he spoke. He narrowed his eyes at Sandor’s face. “So your mother fucked a redskin, did she? He laughed derisively. “I hope the Pawnee make short work of the lot of you and all your mongrel young’uns too!”

*Without warning, Sandor reached into his mouth and cut out his tongue. The other warriors looked at him fearfully. “Enough talk.” He turned to Bronn. “Finish him. We’ve wasted enough time on this smelly white man.”

*“You killed his mother, you buffalo hunters,” Bronn snarled in English. “And now I kill you.” Bronn drew his blade across the man’s throat and then took his scalp, all the while calling out his victory song.

Rain In His Face did not wait. He quickly unharnessed the mules and placed rope around their necks. “We must make haste. Let us keep the animals so we can use them to carry the meat.”

“A good idea, Rain In His Face. I give you the animals to do with as you please.” Sandor glanced toward his brother. “Bronn, we must go. That old man knew more than he understood. The Pawnee war party was headed for our village; that is why Wakan Tanka led us to the buffalo hunters and Long Bow, and also why the old man spoke so much after tasting your lance.”

“I believe you are right, brother.” Bronn climbed onto his horse. “Let us hurry.”

**Notes:**

The war headdress were an especially important item worn into battle. They were used to warn the enemy that the warrior was fierce and would not hesitate to evoke the strength of the animal he wore in battle. When they hunted wolves or bears, warriors would eat the heart of the animal raw soas to draw its strength. Such items allowed the enemy to decide whether or not they wanted to face the wearer of such garments in combat or leave him to a more experienced warrior. A man who would wear a grizzly headdress had killed the bear by himself, which was exceedingly dangerous and rare feat considering they used only a bow, arrow or war lance to do so. Not many men would test him.

Though Native Americans are commonly depicted as wildly charging into battle, nothing could be further from the truth of the way they actually made war. Everything-from the way the weapons were made to the when they made war to the consideration of the weather conditions-all were carefully, prayerfully considered. Every detail of the attack was weighed carefully to ensure their success as well as the blessing of Wakan Tanka.

The experience of Sandor finding Running Fox's brother was a common occurrence among warring tribes. Once a captive was taken into the tribe and assimilated to their culture, they were considered true born and the warriors would fight to keep them. Sandor refusing to scalp Long Bow and Bronn taking his weapons for her was a tremendous display of mercy. I will explore this more in future chapters.

White buffalo hunters killed by all plains tribes because they had no respect for the rights of the people, did not respect the animals they killed and wasted the meat. Sandor really doesn't need the added reason of them killing his mother to kill them but it fit with my story so there it is.


	13. She Wolves

The day after Sandor’s departure was blustery and bitterly cold. Though Sansa had started watching the weather for signs in the way White Buffalo taught her and had recognized it would be thus, she wanted to do nothing more than hide under the furs and sleep, hoping that when she awakened she would discover that his leaving had been a bad dream. But it was not a dream.

The tipi felt empty without him. Sansa longed to feel the warmth of his arms around her once more. Not long after sunup, Margaery and Running Fox came to her to get her up for the day. Reluctantly she did so.

“Black Elk is ready for your training. You must prepare yourself.” Running Fox explained. A deep flush came across her cheeks as she spoke his name, though she kept her eyes averted.

Margaery and Sansa exchanged knowing glances. “Have you already spoken to him this morning?” Sansa asked, struggling to hide her smile.

“Yes. He came to me before sunup to say that Three Hounds wanted you to have lessons in using the long gun. It is important to go.”

“And?” Margaery raised his brow at her. “What else happened?”

“There is no more,” Running Fox nervously replied while busying herself with Sansa’s dress. “He wanted Father’s permission to train you both.”

Biting her lip, Margaery rolled her eyes at Sansa. “Well then, miss, you’d better hurry.”

When Sansa was finished dressing, Running Fox gave Sansa a thick wolf pelt. “It is from Three Hounds. He treated the pelt himself; he would not let me or any of the women help him. He wanted you to have it after he left, to remind you that you are the wolf of his visions.”

Tears flooded Sansa’s eyes. “It is beautiful. I cannot believe he did this. Thank you.” She turned and hugged her sister in law.

Seemingly pleased, Running Fox smiled broadly as she then draped it over Sansa’s shoulders. "It is your spirit animal, Little Bird. My brother saw it in his vision, and in the way you fought the Pawnee. The wolf will watch over and protect you while Three Hounds is gone. You must pray to her to keep you safe."

"I will. Thank you." Sansa nodded as she caressed the luxuriant fur.

“You have kept me waiting.” Black Elk quietly said to her as she hurried toward him. Next to Bronn, Black Elk was Sandor’s most trusted warrior.

He was somewhat younger than Sandor and Bronn. Handsome, powerfully built and imposing in stature, his gaze softened slightly when she moved in front of him and offered the traditional bow.

Sansa understood his words were not meant as a rebuke, for Black Elk stated it as though he were relaying a fact about the weather.

“Forgive me,” she bowed meekly as was the custom when begging pardon. “Black Elk, you are a most fear inspiring warrior and I am honored you have stayed behind to watch over me. I will not make you wait for me tomorrow.”

“Sansa Little Bird,” Black Elk bowed in return, the gesture demonstrating that he was not slighted by her tardiness. “I am honored that Sandor Three Hounds has entrusted your safety to me. It was your husband’s wish that you learn to use the rifle better. I follow his orders.”

His eyes roamed over her. “Does the morning find you unwell?”

Sansa shrugged.

"Your cheeks are white like the snow. Have your wounds healed?” He persisted. 

“They are almost completely healed.” Her hand instinctively went to her stomach.

“I should bring White Buffalo to give you a tea.” Black Elk waved one of the women over.

“There is no tea that will help me, for my heart is sick.” It was the only way she knew to explain to him, for Black Elk did not know English. Sansa’s Lakota, while improving daily from her daily lessons with Running Fox, was still limited in speech, though she understood most words if they were spoken slowly.

“I am missing my husband. Also, I am mourning my parents and my brothers.” Sansa tearfully admitted while folding her hands.  She was having great difficulty with hiding her feelings as was the Lakota custom.

“It is to be expected.” Black Elk sympathetically nodded, glancing over her head in his discomfort.  “Still, a bit of willow bark tea will not hurt.”

When the woman returned, she handed the cup to Black Elk. Sighing, he moved closer to her and gave her the tea. “Three Hounds will return to you. No arrow or war lance can touch him, for he makes powerful medicine in battle.”

His eyes briefly flickered away from her.

Sansa followed his line of sight to see Running Fox shyly lowering her gaze as Black Elk watched her working a deer hide.

Smiling, she nudged him. “Running Fox looks well this morning, does she not?”

“She does.” Clearing his throat, he struggled to keep his serious demeanor as he continued: “But I must keep to my thought. Some men are harder to kill than the great grizzly bears, and Sandor Three Hounds is one of them. I have seen it. Enemies have been frozen in their tracks by his ferocity; he cuts through them with ease. The great bears protect him and lend him ferocity in battle, for they are his spirit animal.”

Sansa had no doubt that Black Elk spoke the truth. Sandor was a very intimidating person when he was not at war. With his face painted the morning he left, it was all she could do not to shrink from him, even though Sandor only looked upon her with affection. And his grizzly necklace alone was more than enough proof of his fierceness.

Sansa knew Black Elk meant for his praise to reassure her, and so she offered a small smile then. “Thank you for telling me. I feel better hearing it.”

“Come, I will teach you to better your aim.” Black Elk waved her closer to him after she finished her cup. “You will not think of Three Hounds if you keep busy.”

“Black Elk, I know how to aim a rifle and hit a target.” Sansa answered somewhat testily.  “I also know how to hunt.”

Stunned, the warrior stared at her. Before he could question her, she added: “My father was a military soldier for many years and he taught my brothers and sister and me.”

Black Elk adamantly shook his head. “No, Little Bird; the Lakota way of war is _not_ the white way. The tracks in a white man’s book cannot help you. Should the Pawnee come, your knowledge of the white ways of war will do you very little good. Three Hounds knows this and wants you to learn our way.”

“I am very grateful,” Sansa bowed to him slightly. “I will seek White Buffalo.  She will teach me the Lakota way of making war.”

“Good. You honor your husband.” Black Elk nodded approvingly. “I am glad you made a marriage for love. Otherwise, Spotted Tail would have asked to buy you from Three Hounds. He is not worthy of you.”

A shudder moved through her. “Why? I would not wish to marry anyone but Sandor.”

“He feels he is owed.” Black Elk shrugged. “I do not agree.” He leaned in close, his eyes glinting angrily. “You owe him nothing. Three Hounds will educate him.”

Suddenly nervous, Sansa decided to change the subject. “Do you think the Pawnee will truly come?” She stared into his eyes. “I overheard some of the people say they might come while the warriors are gone. That is why Sandor asked you to watch over me.”

Wringing her hands, Sansa watched Black Elk closely, waiting to see if he would try to hide the truth from her. But there was no deception in the man that she could see; he looked at her in the same forthright way Sandor did.

Frowning, Black Elk stood quietly for a few minutes before he answered: “What Three Hounds asked of me is a great honor and has nothing to do with war.” He placed his hand on her arm. “As for the Pawnee, they will come. Whether it is tomorrow or in twelve seasons, it does not matter; they will come.” He handed her the rifle. “And when they do, Three Hounds wants you to be ready.”

“Please, tell me how to act when the Pawnee come.”

“Use your rifle. When Three Hounds fights, you must show appreciation and approval and not look away when he takes the scalp, for he does it for your protection and that of the tribe.”

Sansa swallowed hard and nodded.

“If he puts an arrow into a Pawnee and the warrior is slow to die, you must take the lead in finishing him. You must be a good example to the women and children.”

“I-I can do that.” Sansa shakily replied.

“He knows you can, Little Bird, which is why he chose you for his wife.”

She was moved that Sandor put so much trust in her, for even she knew that it was not the Lakota way to train a women in such a manner. So, for the following five days, Sansa continued her lessons with the rifle Sandor had given Black Elk.

It was light and sturdy with very little kickback when it was fired. Sandor had chosen well for her and so she practiced until her arm grew sore and on her shoulder bloomed a bright purple bruise.

Black Elk had warned her it would be thus and Sansa persevered in her practicing, the young woman determined to do what she could to help her husband and herself should the Pawnee warriors attack.

Every day, after he finished with her lessons, he would help Margaery, who, to Sansa’s surprise, was a willing student as well. As for Black Elk, he was most patient, and Sansa could tell he was well pleased with their progress.

Her confidence grew as her skill increased with the rifle, and yet still Sansa woke up each morning afraid. She mentioned it to White Buffalo, who told her to pray about it.  

Curiously, in the evenings, a lone female wolf began appearing in front of her tipi. Sansa would feed it scraps, though the men warned her not to do it. The animal seemed friendly enough, and knowing Sandor’s vision, Sansa felt compelled to care for the wolf. After studying the animal's delicate nature, she called her Lady.

As Lady grew friendlier, several of the young warriors insisted that they should be allowed to kill her. Distressed, Sansa reminded her father -in-law of Sandor’s vision and pleaded for him to spare the animal.

“Little Bird is the wolf of Three Hounds’ dreams, and she speaks for the animal.  Three Hounds has sent the she-wolf to protect her, I am certain of it.” White Buffalo pointed to the pelt Sansa wore around her shoulders. “Like LIttle Bird, she must not be killed but treated with honor.” The medicine woman declared in front of the assembly.

Standing Bear commanded: “The she-wolf belongs to Little Bird. My son's wife has strong medicine to be connected to a powerful and wise spirit animal in such a way. No one can deny it. Three Hounds saw a vision of a wolf in connection with his wife; this is his prophecy. No one must take the she-wolf for their own. That is all I have to say.”

The elders all agreed.

In the late afternoon, while Margaery practiced, Sansa learned how to treat animal skins by practicing on one of the buffalo hides Sandor had brought back from the hunt. She wanted to please him so she decided to make him a warm, buttery soft robe out of it, for all the old women agreed that the winter was going to grow bitterly cold. Sansa saved the scraps of rawhide for the wolf and even went so far as to successfully urge her to take it from her hand, much to the awe of the people.

Running Fox helped her with the finish work, and as they labored, she helped Sansa with her Lakota words as well. In turn, Sansa would share bits of information about Black Elk with her. Every so often she would catch Standing Bear watching them, and she was glad to see her father in law smile approvingly as they worked.

The week went by relatively quickly but still Sansa could not shake the feeling of impending doom that had plagued her throughout. Then, on Saturday morning, Sansa was awakened by a great commotion in the village.  

Cautiously she peeked outside the flap with her heart in her throat, half expecting to see a group of Pawnee warriors tearing through the village. Instead, she saw Lady resting peacefully in front of the flap despite the upheaval in camp.

Lightning in the Sky raced his pony into the center of the village. “Yamni Sunka iwahoya an Pawnee zuys.” _Three Hounds warns the Pawnee are on the warpath._ “An ozuye gli acaji.” _The warriors will return tomorrow_.

At once the men went rushing toward Standing Bear’s tipi, all of them speaking very fast so that Sansa could hardly understand their words.  Black Elk cast a glance toward her and motioned for her to join him before he went inside.

“A hunting party of Cheyenne warriors met us at the mouth of the hills,” the boy gasped out in the center of the assembly. “They have seen the Pawnee war party heading into the hills. This strengthens what the Pawnee and the wasicu buffalo hunter told Three Hounds.”

After prayers were said, Standing Bear ordered preparations for war were to begin at once.

All through the evening the men worked to fortify the camp. Standing Bear made arrangements for the old people and women with babies to move out of the camp.

Sansa and Margaery were moved into the tipi with Running Fox and Standing Bear’s two wives, Black Bird and Many Moons. They were huddled close together and Sansa was only able to get a fitful, restless sleep.

At dawn, the camp was eerily silent. White Buffalo came and smudged them with white sage while praying over them.

Standing Bear dressed for war, kissed his wives and then approached each of his daughters-in-law.

“Pray for the safety of the tribe, Little Bird and Yellow Flower.”  He caressed Sansa’s cheek first, then Margaery.

Afterward, Sansa clutched her rifle and waited next to the flap while Margaery stood in front of Standing Bear’s wives, each of whom held tomahawks.

Black Elk's shadow slipped behind the tipi, his war lance and rifle casting long shadows against the buffalo hide walls.

Outside the she wolf pawed at the entrance before howling long and low but Black Elk did not chase her away. Running Fox met her eyes and nodded knowingly.

_She has come to protect me, just as White Buffalo and Running Fox said._

“Sandor, come to us, my love. Come to us.” She whispered in Lakota before kissing the wolf pelt he had given her.

Standing Bear’s wives began to weep.

"Enila!" Black Elk hissed. _Be quiet!_  

No one said a word. In the distance they heard the pack answer followed by the barking of the dogs before everything went silent once more.

Sansa knew then that the Pawnee had arrived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The wolf, more often than not, was called a female. She held great magic, possessing the power of night, the healing powers of the spirits, and the wisdom to instill courage. Wolves held a special place in almost all Native American tribes. They were admired for their strength and powers of endurance, and taught the tribes many skills. They taught the tribes about sharing, cooperating while hunting and looking after the young, caring and having pride in their tribes. They showed the Indians how to move in the forests -- carefully and quietly. The hunters looked for signs of them, for when game was scarce, the wolves would be gone. And after killing the prey, a good hunter always left a piece of meat behind. Some tribes thought that we were the creatures most patterned after the wolf, and not the other way around. Contrasting with European folklore, where wolves are usually depicted as evil, Native American folklore has wise wolves that teach lessons to their human counterparts.
> 
> There is a Lakota story about a woman hurt and left behind that became a part of a wolf pack. She stayed with them for many years, but she finally realized that she had to return to her people. She brought with her many skills of the wolf, such as predicting weather far in advance and alerting the village when there were animals or other humans nearby. This is why I merged the wolf mythology of the Lakota with the Stark direwolves and also why Sansa hears the wolves howling and recognizes the Pawnee have come.
> 
> Even though women were not warriors in traditional Lakota society, it was the matriarch's job to teach the children of the family that it was important to support their father, even to the extent that they would finish off the men he had wounded. The chief's wife in particular would do this, beating the enemy warrior with logs from the fire. 
> 
> The Lakota kept dogs in camp as an important part of the tribe's safety, as they would alert them to any animals or enemies that may otherwise enter the village unnoticed. Sandor being referred to Three Hounds is an indication of his protectiveness and an honored distinction of being the first to spot the enemy, nothing like the derogatory manner in which Joffrey calls him "Dog" in canon.


	14. Attack on the Village

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please read before you proceed with the chapter. 
> 
> There is more violence in this chapter than I have ever written. Rest assured, it is not gratuitous and is necessary to the plot and development of my characters as Lakota people, for the Lakota are a war band in a similar manner to the Vikings-there is no way to tell a story about them or understand their motivations without it.
> 
> I worked hard to make the fighting realistic and true to the Lakota experience with war, yet still told in as tasteful a manner as possible. Still, I completely understand if my readers want to avoid it, so I have marked the paragraphs of this chapter that contain violence (*), violent images and threats (**), and one attempt of sexual assault (***) so that anyone who wishes to avoid it can still enjoy the rest of the fic. Since many of my readers want to avoid the topic, I won't include explanations for the weapons, reasons for including an attempt of assault or other means of war in the author's notes, but if anyone has any questions, please don't hesitate to ask! :D
> 
> See the end of the chapter for more author's notes.

As the night retreated, cold fear crept through Sandor’s body. Red clouds stained the early morning sky like blood flowing into a crystal blue creek.

“Look. The blood of our people,” he whispered.

The Lakota warriors recognized that this was the very sign the Pawnee needed to pursue their attack on the village.

“The men have warned the people, Three Hounds.” Bronn meant to reassure him, though Sandor spotted the apprehension in his brother’s voice as he spoke. “They will be ready.”

Without a word, Sandor kicked his horse in the flanks and began running the animal as fast as he dared along the twisting mountain passes of the Black Hills.

By midmorning, distant smoke from the tipis came into view. Each warrior tensed as they took in the sight, for each man knew their families’ lives were in grave danger; indeed, everyone in the village was vulnerable.

“Go, ride ahead and tell us what you see.” Sandor ordered Bronn and Gun In The Water. “Kill any Pawnee warrior who crosses your path.”

Pacing, Sandor berated himself. Why had he wasted time on the buffalo hunters? Quickly he dismissed the thought as soon as it came, for without the white men and their sloppy ways, they would not have found so great a bounty of food in the winter. Yet what did it matter, if their actions led to the deaths of many in the tribe? What happened to one happened to all, and Sandor was determined to stop the Pawnee at any cost.

“You are longing for your new wife, Three Hounds.” Rain In His Face offered after noticing his distress. “Worry and desire is making you more anxious than usual.”

“I am no boy; I do not think with my manhood.”  Sandor glared at the man, causing him to shrink back under his heated gaze. “I know Little Bird is in distress, as are the people. I can feel it. If you have nothing important to say, stay silent and leave me to my prayers.”

“We hear nothing out of the ordinary in the village, Three Hounds.” Gun In The Water reported when he returned from scouting the trail. “We saw nothing, not even tracks. It seems the village sleeps.”

That in itself was worrisome to Sandor. “The people should be busy already, for the sun is nearing the center of the sky.” Sandor answered through gritted teeth.

Bronn agreed.

“I feel the wolf in my wife, I feel her fear.” Sandor paused. “The Pawnee are already there; I feel it. Brother, did you see the dogs of the village?”

“No, but there are wolves about.” Bronn answered uneasily. “We heard a wolf howling and then the pack answered.”

Unified by the same thought, the warriors nervously glanced at one another: the presence of wolves announced war. Panicked, Sandor dismounted, knelt down and rested his ear against the frozen earth. “There are vibrations on the ground. Horses are running. The Pawnee are about to enter the village.” The discovery sent a sickening dread through the man.

“We will hear the sounds of battle, brother, even before we get there, for the noise will echo off the mountain walls.” Bronn spoke quietly.

“There will _be_ no battle!” Sandor snarled out as he climbed on his horse and faced his men. “There will only be blood. No Pawnee will be left standing.”

**The men all nodded their assent. No more had Sandor finished speaking than the sound of gunfire ricocheted off the granite rock face. As they crept closer, several of the camp’s dogs lifeless bodies floated past them in the shallow end of the lake.

**Kneeling down, Sandor pulled one of the arrows out of the animal he called Hunter and studied the feathered head; it was of the same design that covered the bodies of Little Bird’s family. He held it up to Bronn, who frowned at the sight.

“Tunkashila Wakan Tanka, pilamayaye. _Great Mysterious Wakan Tanka, thank you for my life_.  Onsimalaye. _I am worthy of Divine Grace._  Wani wachiyelo omakiyaye _. Help me, I want to live._  Mitakuye Oyasin! _All my relations.”_ Sandor called out his warrior’s prayer before charging into the pass leading to the winter lodges.

* * *

The sound of war cries alerted Sansa and Margaery that the fight had begun. Sansa drew deep breaths to calm herself while running Black Elk’s directions through her mind as they waited. _Stay hidden and wait for the enemy to come to you._ _Wait until you see the man’s eyes to fire your rifle. Don’t let anyone get too close to you, or the rifle will do you no good.  If you cannot shoot, beat the man with it. If Three Hounds comes, let him do the killing. Do not look away when he takes the scalp._

**The terrified screams of the people soon filled the camp. Her heart beat wildly in her chest, but Sansa obeyed and waited. Fidgeting, Margaery shot a worried look toward her. Before long, the women heard Black Elk calling out his own name, that he was not afraid, that he would soon wear their scalps on his lance. Within a short time, the Pawnee war cries closest to the tipi suddenly fell silent.

“He got them,” Margaery smiled. “Sansa, Black Elk killed the men-“ A ripping sound drew their attention to the wall behind them.

The women turned to see a dagger pierced the hide of the tipi, renting the material in two as a Pawnee warrior drew his blade through the buffalo hide. Standing Bear’s wives screamed in terror, but Running Fox ran to face the Pawnee as she shouted out her own war cry, raising her tomahawk over her head.

“I am Running Fox-do you see I am not afraid of you? Wakan Tanka has sent my brothers a vision! Soon the mighty Three Hounds and Black Water would return for your scalps!”

The Pawnee warrior merely laughed and raised his lance. “You are a traitor,” he spat out in Lakota. “And Three Hounds has cheated us out of two wives.” He looked toward Sansa. “Your white weapons cannot hurt me.”

Ignoring his words, Sansa aimed her rifle. Swallowing hard, she said a silent prayer to Wakan Tanka and placed her finger on the trigger. She thought of her mother and father then, of her brothers and sister, and imagined what she would have done to the same Pawnee warrior then if she had a weapon. Choking down her fear, the young woman determined she would _not_ falter; she would not lose another family to them and she would claim his life for those he stole from her family.

The Pawnee man laughed at the women and raised his knife to Running Fox.

* “Stand clear,” Sansa commanded in Lakota, to which Running Fox ducked away from him. When the warrior finally looked toward Sansa, she unhesitatingly squeezed the trigger, the sharp concussion of the weapon sending the man reeling backwards out of the tipi.

** “You killed him, Sansa.” Dazedly Margaery stared at the bleeding warrior with her rifle still in the cradle of her elbow. “I’m glad.” When his body twitched, she jumped back.

**Running Fox, Black Bird and Many Moons all descended upon him then, hacking away at the fallen warrior with their weapons.

*Another Pawnee warrior attempted to climb through the torn tipi; this time, Margaery raised her rifle and shot him. Blood pooled on the floor and covered her moccasins, the sight bringing on the same weak feeling within Sansa that she first experienced when she saw her mother killed. In the back of her mind she discerned the screams outside were moving further away from them.

**Black Elk entered the tipi through the flap. “It is Black Elk. Do not hurt me.” After Sansa gave him an approving nod, he then knelt and took the men’s scalps; both she and Margaery turned away.

When finished, he waved Running Fox toward him.

** “Are you hurt?” Black Elk gestured to the blood on her skirt.

** ”No, it is the Pawnee’s blood.” She shyly looked at her feet. “I cut him with my axe. He said Little Bird and Yellow Flower were meant to be Pawnee wives.”

“You did good,” he smiled at Running Fox as he allowed his finger to trace her cheek. Collecting himself, Black Elk turned back toward Sansa and Margaery. “Come with me now; the Pawnee are retreating.”

** After carefully looking about, Black Elk crept outside and waved at them to follow. Sansa’s eyes were drawn to the bloodied scalps now adorning his war lance but she swallowed down her revulsion and carefully followed in his footsteps.

Standing Bear fell into step right behind them, the man breathing out a sigh of relief at the sight of his family.

“Who killed this one?” He kicked the Pawnee man lying outside the tent at his feet.

“Little Bird,” Black Elk declared proudly. “She did not hesitate. She honors Three Hounds. Your wives and daughter hacked him up.”

His mouth twitched in the same pleased way Sansa had often observed in Sandor.

“Daughters, we give chase.” Standing Bear ordered. “My wives, you stay within the tent.”

Swallowing hard, Sansa and Margaery followed their father-in-law and Black Elk away from the chief’s dwelling. She wanted nothing more than to go into her tipi and find a hiding place, to place her hands over her ears and drown out the sounds of battle around them; but Sansa forced down her fear and shadowed the men while holding her rifle at the ready.

** Black Elk lead them toward the water while members of the tribe closed in around them, fighting off the Pawnee warriors and protecting their chief. Old and young, warrior and young boy, all fought hard in the battle. Even the older women who had taught Sansa to bead and treat Sandor’s tunics were taking part, beating the fallen enemies with logs and finishing them while their grandchildren poked their heads out of their hiding places and watched.

** Three young Pawnee warriors attacked them from behind, only to be brutally cut down by Standing Bear with his war club. Though old, the chief had finished them before Sansa and Margaery could even raise their weapons.  Running Fox quickly moved in after her father to beat the men’s bodies, cursing and spitting at them as she took out her vengeance on the Pawnee.

*Crying out a terrible war shriek, two warriors raced toward them on horseback; this time, Margaery and Sansa both held their ground and discharged their weapons. After Black Elk took their scalps, he waved the women to follow him. Standing Bear mercilessly killed two more Pawnee warriors by himself.

“Three Hounds and Black Water learned from their father,” Black Elk explained as they hurried toward the rushing water of the tributary. “You must hold fast. The rest of the Pawnee warriors are coming.”

* A large group of Pawnee warriors made their stand in the waters, the men seemingly searching for someone. When they spied Margaery and Sansa, they waved their hands in their direction. White Buffalo waded out into the water, drawing her bow and firing arrows into several of the Pawnee warriors.

** “They are looking for us!” Sansa cried out to Black Elk. Crouching low to the ground, he signaled for the women to hide among the big rocks along the shore. Finding the largest boulders, Sansa and Margaery squeezed in the space between them. The snow around their feet was stained red. Sansa followed the bloodied ice to see Spotted Tail and Lightning In The Sky both lying mortally wounded not far away from the women. The Pawnee warriors hovering over them were too focused on taking the fallen Lakota’s scalps to see the warriors approaching.

* Raising his lance, Black Elk speared the Pawnee before the man could raise his knife. Above the large granite rock where Sansa and Margaery had taken shelter, a fierce Pawnee warrior leapt down onto her, dragging her out of her hiding place. Beating him frantically with the butt of her rifle, Sansa cried out to Wakan Tanka.

“I can’t shoot him without hitting you!” Margaery called out. “Fight him, Sansa-fight!”

***Quickly the warrior flipped Sansa on to her back and reached for her lacings. “You were meant to be ours!” He spat out. “Your warrior husband won’t want you after I am through.”  Everything was a blur and yet Sansa beat him with all her might, bloodying the man’s face and neck. Suddenly a streaking of grey fur jumped into the fray on top of them.

“Lady!” Sansa cried out as she crawled away from the enormous, snarling animal. Her rifle had been knocked into the swirling water nearby during her struggle with the Pawnee; rather than risk getting caught out in the open while trying to retrieve it, Sansa drew out the large dagger Sandor had given her.

* The panicked screams of the Pawnee warrior abruptly died in his throat as wolf’s jaws clamped down on onto his neck. The she-wolf then lifted the man and shook him violently as though he were a toy, until he stopped moving.  Just as swiftly, Lady dropped the man at Sansa’s feet and trotted off.

“The wolf fights for Little Bird!” Black Elk cried out. “Wakan Tanka has sent Wolf Woman to us!”

** Overhead, she heard Margaery’s rifle fire. Her aim was true, for her bullet lodged into the throat of the warrior attempting to rescue his friend.

Scrambling over the rocks away from another warrior, Sansa finally spied her rifle floating in the shallow icy waters. Unsure as to whether she should risk trying to reach for her weapon or run, Sansa hesitated a moment too long, and the man was upon her.

Staring into the face of her assailant, Sansa saw his eyes were filled with blind hatred, but there was also recognition that Sansa mirrored in her own gaze: he was the Pawnee warrior who killed her mother, the same man she had escaped on the plains. Desperately Sansa glanced around, searching for an escape route.

Upriver, Lady’s snarls echoed out as she mauled yet another Pawnee warrior among the rocks.

“Lady! Lady!”

Seemingly out of nowhere, the huge beast lunged on the back of the Pawnee warrior who stepped in between her and Sansa, the beast ripping out his throat with one jerk of the head. Strengthened by the sheer might of the animal’s ferocity, Sansa shouted and fought off her attacker with every ounce of strength she had left like the wolf that broke free within her once more. She was transformed: she was now the wolf of Sandor’s visions and the sister of the animal fighting beside her.

The gods had given her a taste of happiness with Sandor, and this time, she was ready to fight to the death. Sansa was prepared to die if she had to rather than let the murderers of her family take her; she would die fighting for her new family- _her pack;_ for Margaery and Running Fox, for Black Elk and Standing Bear. For Sandor.

As the Pawnee man yanked on her hair and grabbed for her arms again, Sansa screamed Sandor’s Lakota name, a desperate prayer to any god who might be listening. The warrior jerked her to her feet and pivoted on his heel while struggling to bring his blade to her throat. She grabbed the blade with both hands.

Behind them, Black Elk shouted out his ferocious battle cry, but Sansa focused solely on herself; if she was to die, then she will die at peace. Unafraid, Sansa began singing the hymn her father taught her years ago while fighting for control of the knife.

“Kitala Zitkala walehantu kin Sugmanitu Lota! _Little Bird is now the Red Wolf!_ “ Black Elk called out. “Yamni Sunka tawaci  waayupta Sugmanitu Lota! _Three Hounds will answer the Red Wolf’s call!_ ”

Emboldened, Sansa twisted back,  releasing the warrior’s knife into her hand; if she was to die, she would die while fighting. Out of the corner of her eye, Sansa saw Bronn leaning over his horse and scooping Margaery up into his arms.

Turning, she caught sight of a huge figure, half man and half bear, approaching at a frantic pace. 

Both she and the warrior froze then;for bearing down on them, wielding the skull crusher and screaming out his war cry with a blind fury, was Sandor Three Hounds.

For a moment, fear blighted the warrior’s face before he abruptly turned loose of her. Spiraling away from the Pawnee, Sansa crouched down on her belly just as a loud rushing noise hissed past her face and exploded into the deafening crack of shattering bone.

Before Sansa realized what had happened, Sandor was upon her, lifting her into his arms and burying his face into her hair. ”Kitala Zitkala, wa niye oyazoye? _Little Bird, are you hurt?_ ” He asked over and over.

** “I am safe, thanks to you,” She whispered into his neck, squeezing her eyes closed from the sight of the dead warrior at her feet, lying on his side with his head split open.

Her heart pounded in her chest, the young woman scarcely able to believe her husband was with her. “Sandor I knew you would come-I prayed for it! You would never let anything happen to me.”

“No, and I never will.” He lifted the lower half of her body then, one arm under her legs, and sat down as he placed her on his lap. “You fought well. The wolf came out in you, the people are saying.”

“I thought I lost you,” Sandor rasped out, the raw pain in his voice moving her deeply. “If you were taken from me…I would not survive.”

Sansa brushed her lips over his mouth. “You won’t let anyone take me, Three Hounds.” Sansa smiled at him reassuringly, then followed Sandor’s gaze to her hands, which were covered in the Pawnee’s blood.

“He cut you.” He raised her hand and carefully examined her fingers. “It is your blood too.”

“I cut him many times. He was the man who killed my mother. He was the one who wounded me."

Sandor nodded slowly. "I read his arrows. Some of your injuries have opened, I am afraid."

"I had to fight for your vision came true, husband. I was the wolf in your dreams."

"You fought bravely," Sandor pulled her closer and kissed her cheeks."You will never need to do so again, I swear it."

"Wakan Tanka sent me an actual she-wolf to protect me as well,” she gestured toward Lady. Startled, Sandor started to move away from the huge animal, who had calmly curled beside them, wagging her tail.

“She will not hurt you, for she knows I belong to you.”

Drawing a deep breath, Sandor ignored the beast and pulled Sansa closer still. They sat like that, with Sansa’s face tucked into the crook of his neck and his scarred cheek resting on her hair, until their breathing slowed and their heartbeats returned to normal. Lady contentedly napped beside them.

“My Little Bird has become the Red Wolf,” he whispered into her hair as he rose to his feet. “Let us go home.” He settled her on a nearby rock. “But first, I must finish him.”

She knew what was coming then. When Sandor called out his victory song and raised his scalping knife, Sansa did not look away.

* * *

 A/N: A blood red sky at dawn was taken to mean the impending battle had the blessing of the gods for many of the Native American tribes. Sandor's prayer before entering battle and the use of the term Mitakuye Oyasin is integral in Lakota culture. It's a simple yet profound statement that means all my relations. It is spoken during prayer and ceremony to invite and acknowledge all relatives to the moment. To most of us today, relative means a blood relation or another human in the family lineage. We have not been taught that an entity, other than human, could be a relative. But if you love and honor your relatives, you would be loving and honoring most of what is on this earth, if you lived by this meaning of “relative" and this is why this term is used before battle, that the actions of the warriors would reflect this so as to receive the blessing of Wakan Tanka.

Wolves are social animals, and while I don't recommend it, some have been successfully "tamed" by Lakota, so Sansa's experience-though rare-is not out of the realm of possibility.  Wolves view their humans as part of the pack, and it is natural that Lady would fight to the death for her "sister."

Wolf Woman is an important figure in Lakota legend, which tells of a woman who was found in the wilderness by a pack of wolves. The wolves took her in and looked after her, showing her the ways of the wolf. When the woman regained her health she returned back to her people and showed them all that the wolves had taught her. This is why the wolf is the symbol of intuition, learning and teaching of earthly wisdom. Someone who has wolf medicine is seen by the people as a problem solver.

White Buffalo takes part in the battle as a warrior, not in the traditional female role because she is a medicine woman.

 


	15. Healing Needle and Red Wolf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is one paragraph with a description of a violent act. I placed an asterisk (*) next to it so readers who wish to avoid it can do so and still read the rest of the chapter. See the end for more author's notes.
> 
> Edit: Thanks to Oloi5 for pointing out that as the daughter of an English lord, Sansa would have eaten beef marrow. I have revised this part of the chapter to reflect that. :D

Fury swept over Sandor as he rode down the enemy who had dared enter his own camp and attack his beloved wife; he had become further enraged when the warrior tried to use her as his shield. It was the coward who killed her parents, Sandor recognized; he determined he would end her suffering once and for all.

When Sandor saw the Pawnee warrior drag Sansa into his arms, he could not bring himself to throw his war lance for fear that he would miss and strike Little Bird instead. It was not that he did not trust his weapon. His aim had always been true, but he would not risk her and the Pawnee knew it, though Sandor saw the fear in his face as he rode his horse straight for them.

*Sansa Little Bird wisely used the opportunity and swiveled out of the enemy's grasp, thus providing Sandor a sure mark, and so he wielded his skull crusher and screamed out his war cry in a blind rage, hurling the weapon with  deadly accuracy and brutal force. The man’s skull cracked open like an axe through ripened fruit.

Afterward, when Sandor leaned down to scalp the man, there was little left of the Pawnee warrior’s head to be taken. But that did not deter him; Sandor again shouted out his war cry and did what had to be done in front of the village.

He did it for his wife to assure her of her safety and affirm his commitment to protecting her, but afterward Sandor was unsure if Sansa looked upon his actions in the same light. Quickly he put his bounty in his hunting pouch, out of her sight, and decided he would offer to bury it for her later with the remaining pieces of her mother’s garment.

Running Fox, sensing her sister’s discomfort, moved in with a basin full of water and herbs to wash the blood off of Sandor’s hands. “Let me help ready you for your wife, brother.” Vigorously she scrubbed his skin and then dried him.

Quietly Sandor assented, all the while keeping an eye on his obviously distressed wife and thinking of how he would explain to Running Fox that he had killed her brother, Long Bow. That was a conversation he would save for later; he needed to focus on Sansa now.

“Your wife fought most bravely,” Running Fox complimented him, but Sandor only muttered his reply. He was thinking of her brother and also of Bronn’s words;  he had reminded him several times on the trail that despite Sansa’s willingness to learn, she would still need time to adjust to the Lakota ways of life. More particularly, she would need to learn and accept their ways of war.

Looking down at her blank expression, he knew it would be unrealistic of him to expect that she would suddenly adapt.  Sandor hated the thought that his actions had played a part in her emotional upset, and so he went to her at once. Approaching her cautiously, he knelt beside her.

She held her arms out to him like a child. Encouraged, Sandor lifted Sansa in his arms. “You’re shaking, wife,” He rasped into her ear. “Do I frighten you so much?” Sandor started to tilt her face up to him, but Sansa instead buried her face in his neck.

“Seeing you so fierce in your war outfit frightens me a bit. I know beneath the bearskin is my beloved, but I cannot help it.” Sansa admitted, her voice muffled, the young woman’s breath warm against his skin.

At hearing her, Sandor decided her response was more about his actions and appearance but less toward him as a man. She had not mentioned the scalping, and  if it was he, in fact, who had frightened her, surely she would not seek out his embrace for comfort. And Sansa Little Bird had called him her _beloved_ , an English term he treasured, especially when spoken in her soft, sweet voice. Anxiously Sandor remained silent and waited for her to speak.

Sansa snuggled closer to him and pressed her lips to his ear, brushing his hair back with her fingers as she did so.

“Please, do not be angry with me.” She caressed his neck, her touch sending a pleasurable shiver through the man.

“I am not afraid that you will hurt me, my love. I am just not accustomed to such…” Without further explanation, Sansa gestured to the carnage around them.

“I know,” He blurted out before she finished her sentence; the protective side of Sandor made him want to reassure her as quickly as possible.

“We will leave at once. You will not be near it anymore, wife.” Sandor tightened his arms around her.

Removing his knife from its sheath, he then cut off a braided lock of his hair, tied it off with a piece of rawhide and then handed it to her.

“I swear to you, Sansa. You wear this as a sign of my vow to remind you of my promise when you are afraid.”

A small smile came upon her lips then, relieving him. Sansa held out her wrist for him to tie it on, and then she leaned in and tenderly kissed his cheek.

“Thank you. I will wear it always.”

All around them, the women were cleaning up the dead while others went about butchering the buffalo meat. The men laid the enemy warriors at the edge of the village so the Pawnee could collect their dead; the younger braves began digging the graves of the fallen Lakota while their families looked on.

White Buffalo was singing a song to the dead and waving smoking bundles of sage two and fro over the bodies.

Sandor ran his hand over Sansa’s jawline, the gesture silently urging her not to look and instead place her head on his shoulder.

“The people will see to the fallen, wife.” He pointed toward the travois lined along the water’s edge. “See, we have brought plenty of food. We found the remains of the buffalo that the hunters left on the plains.”

“It can still be used?” Sansa glanced up at him.

“Yes, it is all fresh because the weather has been so cold." He walked her over to the butchering mats. "The women will cut it up and later, we will feast. The smoking tipi will soon be in use.”

“I do not want to feast,” Sansa began shaking again. “I cannot eat after all of this. Please, Sandor, I just want to be with you alone in our tipi.”

“I understand. But we cannot be rude, wife,” Sandor sighed into her hair. “We must go and share in telling our stories.”

Sansa said nothing in reply.

He understood her feelings, but Sandor was hesitant to risk offending his father and the people. “What say you if we go and stay for just a short time?”

“Alright.” Sansa muttered quietly while averting her eyes from him. “I do not want to offend your father. But I do not want to talk about the fight.”

“It is a way to honor our dead and the brave deeds of all the people.” Sandor explained to her. “In this way we remember their sacrifices and bravery. There will be songs sung of them. They will be told for many generations.”

Biting her quivering lower lip, Sansa kept her eyes downcast.

“Besides, Margaery Yellow Flower will be there to share in telling the stories,” Sandor nudged her. “I will be most proud to hear you tell your own.”

“If it pleases you.” She shrugged. “Is Margaery well enough to attend, truly? I lost sight of her in the struggle. The last I saw, Bronn was carrying her on his horse.”

Sansa grew restless in his arms.

“What of Running Fox? She must be wounded, for she fought so fiercely. I could not bear to look at her while she tended you.”

“Both of them are unhurt.” Sandor whispered to her. It touched him that she was concerned for their family. “There is no fiercer creature than Running Fox when she is defending her family.”

“I know, I saw her.” Sansa smiled in spite of herself.

“She is now repairing and cleaning the chief’s tipi, along with his wives. Margaery is with Bronn; I saw him take her into their tipi.”

“Bronn’s blood must be up.” She murmured in his ear with a small laugh. “They will be like rabbits for the next few days; watch and see.”

Sandor laughed at Sansa’s humor; he loved that under her ladylike exterior, there was a decidedly naughty side that only he was allowed to see. “You don’t need to have the gift of dreams to know that.”

“Ouch, oh, Sandor, careful now,” Sansa gasped out, the pain of her wounds cutting her merriment short. “Stop, please…the bouncing and laughing is making my stomach wound hurt.”

“Easy, wife,” Sandor comforted her. “You must save your strength, for you have lost blood.  I know it hurts but I am taking you to our home. Then I will bring White Buffalo.”

After a long pause, Sansa raised her face to look at him.

“But Sandor, she is tending the warriors who are hurt-“

Fury washed over him anew. Did his wife not see that she, too, was due honor and respect as a defender of the tribe?

There was no way for Sandor to know how whites viewed such things, but both he and his father had heard from the Kickapoo travelling through that the _wasicu_ soldiers often left their wounded to the animals in the terrible war in the east. It was an unthinkable atrocity and yet it was widely reported that this was done.

Did Sansa believe he would do such to her? Did his wife, the daughter of the chief, the red wolf of her people, doubt her right to receive the best treatment the Lakota had available?

It would not help her to reveal his anger and confusion, so Sandor swallowed down his rage before he spoke.

“You are the red wolf, strong and brave and smart, and you, too, are hurt,” Sandor growled out roughly. “You deserve all that White Buffalo has to offer-and more. She _will_ see you.”

“Please take me to where she is treating the wounded,” Sansa asked quietly. “Then she need not be disturbed from her work.”

Assenting, Sandor took her to White Buffalo.

* * *

As Sandor predicted, Sansa’s hand wounds were deep; the bleeding in her belly was minimal; in fact, most of the blood on her dress was from the Pawnee warrior.

“Strip out of your dress,” the medicine woman ordered as she handed Sansa a plain buckskin garment. Glancing around, Sandor glared at passersby and held up a buffalo robe to hide her nudity while White Buffalo looked her over. “Your hands are hurt worst, Little Bird. But your tendons are safe.”

White Buffalo started to pack the cuts but Margery shook her head. “What if I sewed them closed?” She asked as she turned to Sansa. “I watched our family doctor do it many times on my brothers-they were always getting cuts. You know, it’s not so very different than cross stitching. We can use the silk left from my torn petticoat. I still have my needles.”

Sandor translated the more difficult English words to the medicine woman.

Sansa agreed. “We can try it. What does White Buffalo say?”

Intrigued, White Buffalo answered: “I do not know how to make this cross stitch you speak of and I have never stitched a living hide, but I believe it could work. We must boil the materials first so there is no infection.”

“I do not want you to hurt her more, Yellow Flower.” Sandor sternly took Margaery by the arm. “I mean my words.”

He could see Sansa was about to intervene when Margaery leaned over and patted his hand. “I won’t Sandor, I promise. She’ll feel a small prick, nothing more.”

Anxiously Bronn came out of the tipi to sit beside his wife. Turning, Margaery kissed him reassuringly and then set to work. After she boiled the silken material, Margaery then peeled back the fabric until the longest pieces of silk were exposed and then carefully pulled the threading out of the hem. Sandor watched as she looped it through the needle and tied off the ends.

“It will hurt, Three Hounds. Make your wife take the medicine.” White Buffalo frowned as she handed Sansa a gourd cup of white willow bark tea. “Drink this first.”

Sandor sat behind Sansa and placed her in his lap so he could oversee the treatment. “Drink,” he urged her when she wrinkled her nose at the pungent smell.

After Sansa finished the tea, Margaery began sewing the skin closed while Sandor soothingly stroked her back and stomach.  Sansa, for her part, remained as brave as ever, the young woman hardly making a sound aside from the occasional quick intake of breath, and Sandor was well pleased that his wife behaved so well in front of the people.

A large crowd gathered around them, for Margaery’s actions caught the attention and interest of the men and women alike, all of them whispering compliments to Bronn and staring in fascination as his wife skillfully made her stitches. Even Standing Bear insisted on being placed beside Margaery and Bronn so he could watch her work up close.

Sandor could see Margaery was pleased by the attention. He was glad that by helping Sansa in this way, she also was able to distinguish herself among the people and gain their praise.

Still, he insisted everyone be quiet so their presence would not disturb Yellow Flower’s concentration, which he feared may lead to Sansa accidentally getting hurt.

Standing Bear noticed his  eldest son’s anxiety and rose to his feet.

“None of the people have ever seen the white way of healing. Everyone may watch but all must remain silent or you might disturb Woasniye Thahisspa. _Healing Needle_.” The chief ordered. “Her work is most difficult and she needs to concentrate. That is all I have to say.”

Bronn smiled broadly at Margaery and then his father when White Buffalo called out her agreement.

After the people approvingly and politely complimented Margaery’s new name, the chattering stopped. Knitting her brows, Margaery asked for more light. Bronn quickly lit a torch and held it for her.

Turning away, Sansa leaned into Sandor’s embrace. “What did the chief call Margaery? I could not understand his words.”

“She is now Woasniye Thahisspa. Healing Needle.” Sandor murmured. “He has given her a great honor with this new name, for it means that she is now waphiya wanyan-medicine woman. Only those recommended by the chief can learn such healing arts.”

“Oh, I am so happy for Margaery,” Sansa beamed at him. “She was the one who encouraged me to try to adjust to life here, and she has been a great help to me. She truly is a special person and deserves to be praised.”

Though her face was contorted in pain, her eyes twinkled happily as she spoke. Sandor’s words caught in his throat at the sight, for seeing his wife’s delight paired with her suffering caused his heart to swell with love for her.

He smiled in return and stroked Sansa’s cheek. Sansa had indeed adjusted; if Margaery Yellow Flower was responsible, then he was very pleased for her to become a medicine woman as well.

When Margaery finished her stitching, she carefully tied off the knots and then washed away the dried blood on Sansa’s hands.

“Now, there will be no need to worry about infection as long as you keep it clean and dry.” She instructed while she gently patted Sansa’s hands dry.

“Thank you, Healing Needle.” Sansa smiled at her friend.

Margaery leaned in and kissed Sansa’s face. “Just heal up, that’s all the thanks I need.” She spoke in English and then winked at her friend.

“You are Yellow Flower no longer. You are Healing Needle. You will learn the healing of our people from me.” White Buffalo handed her a medicine pouch. “Your training begins tomorrow. Then you teach me the needle stitches for wounds and also how to make the white talk.”

“Yes, I would be honored. Thank you.” She bowed politely. Looking around her, Margaery jumped in surprise as the people around them began cheering and calling out songs of praise for her.

Stunned, Sandor wondered if Margaery may yet learn her manners.

“My wife, my Yellow Flower, is now Healing Needle.” Bronn gave his consent, then placed his hands on her shoulders and pressed his forehead to hers.

“I will always be your Yellow Flower, Bronny; you know that.” Sandor heard Margaery whisper before she kissed Bronn soundly in front of everyone.

Sandor then turned to Sansa, for he felt her muscles tighten under his touch. “Are you in pain, wife?” He asked as he rubbed her shoulders.

“A little bit.” Sansa nodded, which Sandor knew meant that she was in a great deal of pain.

“Give her more tea this instant!” Sandor barked at White Buffalo. He walked over to the butchering mats, cut open the largest buffalo, removed the heart and the liver, and then presented them to her in thanks. “And give me enough bark to last the night.”

Smiling, White Buffalo handed him a large pouch.

“To the feast!” Standing Bear shook his staff over his head, the rattling noise causing all the people to cheer.

* * *

The smell of roasted buffalo meat filled the air, the luscious scent reminding Sansa that she was very hungry in spite of her injury. The pain had subsided, and Sandor had kept her supplied with plenty of white willow bark tea.

After Sansa bathed and changed into her best dress, she and Margaery, along with their husbands, were led to a place of honor beside the chief by Running Fox.

Black Bird and Many Moons served wojapi soup, wohanpi stew, large haunches of buffalo meat and the big marrow bones, meticulously split so as to contain the savory marrow found inside, on wooden troughs in front of them.

Standing Bear held out a large bone to Sansa, urging her to take it. After Sansa politely accepted it, she cast a questioning glance toward Sandor. She had eaten beef marrow in her previous life as a lord's daughter but never without the proper utensils.

Holding up his own bone, he demonstrated how to suck the marrow from within, the man laughing as her eyes widened.

“Try it, wife. It is very good.”

Gingerly she placed her mouth on it and did just as Sandor had showed her, much to the delight of the people. Sandor’s warriors cheered her on until she finished.

"It is delicious," Sansa giggled and wiped her mouth daintily with her fingers. "I have had beef marrow but never buffalo."

"Buffalo is better," Sandor leaned in and wiped the corner of her mouth with his finger before tenderly kissing her. "You deserve the best of everything, wife."

Later, when everyone had their fill, the chief indicated it was time for the telling of stories. Standing in the center of Standing Bear’s tipi, Sansa related the whole experience, starting with how she killed the Pawnee warriors who came into the chief’s tipi, continuing until she got to the part where Sandor arrived.

She remembered Black Elk advising her to let her husband tell of his own deeds and so she ended there, yet still the people begged her to tell more. As she spoke, Sansa kept her eyes on her husband. She observed many changes in Sandor; pride, rage, and relief all shone in his deep grey eyes as she related her story.

When she finished, Sandor placed his hands on her shoulders and rested his forehead against her own. After he helped her sit down beside the chief, he went on to describe in great detail the fight.

Until then, Sansa was unaware that he had seen her fight off the man who killed her parents, that her wolf attacked any warrior who tried to stop her, or that she grabbed the warrior’s knife with her bare hands and wrestled for it before Sandor made sure he met his death.

Everyone listened in rapt attention and even participated in the story: they gasped as he described the struggle, shouted out their displeasure when Sandor related the blows Sansa received at the Pawnee’s hand and cheered whenever he described the manner in which the Pawnee warriors met their ends.

“Sansa Little Bird is now the Red Wolf!” Standing Bear called out as Sandor lifted her into his arms. “She is Red Wolf of the Lakota people!”

“She and Healing Needle are from Wakan Tanka, winter’s gifts to our people.” The chief proclaimed as he raised his staff. Bronn lifted Margaery onto his shoulders, much to the delight of the people.

The drums began at his words, and all the people began singing their thanks to Wakan Tanka. Greatly moved, Sansa became aware of the great feeling of comradery and family that seemed to grow with each story told and song sung, and she enjoyed it immensely.

Soon it was the warrior’s turns to relate how they came upon the Pawnee and the buffalo hunters which then culminated in the respective parts they played in the battle. After them, the old men and the women each took their turn.

Respectfully Sansa followed the customs of the people throughout, praising each act as it was shared as well as joining in on the booing when the deeds of the Pawnee and buffalo hunters were related. When her voice was barely a whisper, Sansa indicated to Sandor that she was ready to leave.

Taking her cue, Sandor exaggeratedly stretched and yawned before thanking his father and saying goodnight to the assembled people. After the customary calls for them to stay, the couple finally took their leave.

Watching their leader and his wife depart, Gun In The Water and Black Elk stood up and followed them outside the tipi. “Three Hounds, you are leaving so early?”

“We are having a gambling game later.” Black Elk smiled and nodded to Sansa.

In addition to training her to use the rifle, he had also instructed her on Lakota etiquette. Sansa knew it was not polite for Sandor, the leader of the war party, to refuse to attend the gambling game of the man who protected his family. Also, it would be downright rude not give his men one last chance to win some of his spoil.

Winking at Black Elk, Sansa let him know that she caught on to his hint as she spoke.

“If you wish to play with your men, I will not prevent it.” Her words startled him so that Sansa had to force herself not to laugh. “I am happy for you to go. Your men are waiting.  I will stay up for you after, my husband.”

Delighted, Sandor’s mouth twitched into a grin. Tracing his finger over her cheek, he replied: “I will not stay long. I will make you tea when I return.” Leaning down, Sandor whispered his love for her against her lips before kissing her. Turning to the men, he added: “I will join you after seeing to my wife’s comfort.”

The two warriors smiled and courteously bowed to him.

“Red Wolf is very generous.” Gun In The Water dipped his head at her.

“Gun In The Water and Black Elk are very brave warriors and have provided well for all the people. They should celebrate with Three Hounds for as long as they wish. I am proud for my husband to join your games.” Sansa bowed slightly and then followed Sandor to the tipi.

* * *

A/N:

The heart and the liver were the most prized part, for the Lakota believed that consuming them allowed them to absorb the power and the wisdom of the animal.

Wojapi is a delicious berry soup. Wohanpi is a stew traditionally made with bison meat, parsnips and onions. The marrow was a delicacy, and to offer it to a guest was a great honor for the recipient.

As always, if you have further questions, please don't hesitate to ask.

 


	16. Running Fox

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See the end for author's notes. :D

From the moment he rode into camp, Sandor had dreaded seeing the havoc the Pawnee had wreaked on their home. At first glance, though, it seemed that the enemy warriors had not even entered their tent. _Everything is very clean and tidy, just as Sansa had left it,_ Sandor noted appreciatively as he carefully looked over their belongings.

Additionally, there were new painted doeskin mats on the floor and decorating the walls that depicted the wolf and the bear together, representing both his spirit animal and hers. Overjoyed, Sandor could barely contain his happiness as he helped ease her on to their bedding.

“You have done very well for us, my sweet wife.”  

His eyes fell to a bundle of white sage that she had placed beside his former wife and his son’s belongings. _She meant to protect them, too_. The sight brought a catch to his throat, forcing Sandor to cough a few times before he turned back toward her. His mind briefly went back to Long Bow, the brother of his sister, the boy whose throat he cut. Because of him, Running Fox had now lost all of her family just as Sansa had and the knowledge tore at his heart. Sandor knew he would have to go to his father and sister before the game; otherwise he would not be at ease.

When Sandor raised his eyes,Sansa was watching him curiously. 

“Have I displeased you?”

“No, wife, no,” He held her close. “Our home is very well kept and beautified by your work.” 

Sandor noticed Sansa added more lanterns as well as braided rugs to the floors; even from a distance he could tell she had made them herself, and so he left her arms and respectfully inspected each of them with care.

"Your knots are very tight and the braided rows are even. Very good work."

“I have a lot to learn yet,” Sansa wrung her hands as she watched him, hissing when the sting of her wounds reminded her of the injury. “I know they are not very good, but I just wanted to make our home look warm and welcoming for your return.”

“Your work is beautiful because _you_ made it, wife.” He tipped her face up to his own and kissed her. “We will display them with pride.”

Blushing, Sansa shrugged lightly as she ran her fingers back through the length of his hair.

“You are most kind to me.”

He doubted Running Fox would say the same, but Sandor nodded at her and then and gathered her close.  

“It smells very good in here. What did you do to make it so?” He knew what she had done, but Sandor wanted to hear her tell it.

“I lit the sage and smudged everything inside and outside the tipi before the fight, just as you did when we first moved into it.” She glanced around them with a smile. “I wanted Wakan Tanka to protect our home so you would find it as you left it. It seems to have worked, for we can both see that the Pawnee did not come here.”

“The gods steered them away. I am certain.” Sandor replied with a snarl. “A wise thing it was, for there would be nothing that could save them from me had they entered our dwelling.”

“Well, I am sure that when they saw the powerful amulets on the flap, they thought twice about coming in as well.” She needled his stomach playfully. “I have never seen you fiercer than you were today, Sandor. Wakan Tanka was with you, truly.”

Bending his head, Sandor kissed each of her hands with a smile. He was very glad to hear her express her newfound faith. It gave him hope that perhaps one day Sansa would leave off being afraid of the wasicu men with the black clothing and white collars and their teachings of the burning place.

Ever since the first night that Sansa struggled with the nightmares of her parent’s deaths, Sandor’s long held desire that his sweet wife would no longer fear death or the gods. If she could not do so with the Christ god, then he hoped she would learn to embrace Wakan Tanka, take comfort in him and rely upon him as Sandor did. It was not that he wanted her to stop worshipping the Christ god altogether. Sansa could worship whomever she chose, as far as he was concerned, but still he hoped that one day, she would find the peace she deserved with him and with his gods.

The color had returned to her cheeks but Sandor knew Sansa’s hands would hurt as soon as the effects of the tea wore off. After he lit the lanterns, Sandor then went about fixing her another cup, the man determined she would not hurt while waiting for his return. In truth, he did not want to leave her side, not even for a few hours, though he knew custom dictated he show his appreciation by attending Black Elk’s game. More importantly, he felt compelled to tell his sister what had happened in the Pawnee storehouses as soon as possible.

Sandor had made up his mind that he would do more than just give her the young man’s belongings. He would do more than gift Black Elk with meat or furs; for Sandor meant to go to his father and ask for Running Fox’s release, thus enabling Black Elk to marry her.

Sandor had long known that the man desperately wanted her as his wife, and Running Fox also showed that she cared deeply for the warrior.  Sansa, too, had noticed, and had many times pointed out others did, too; it was the worst kept secret in camp. Although Sandor could not undo the injury done to Running Fox, neither would he deny her and Black Elk their chance at happiness, especially now that he had now found his own. And there was no man more worthy of his sister.

When Sandor turned around, he was greeted by the sight of his beautiful wife wearing nothing but a shy smile. Sansa positioned the furs to cover her most intimate places but still Sandor could not take his eyes off of her. Her fair skin and auburn hair shined luminously in the firelight, and at once he was drawn to her.

“Husband, I hope you will not stay away too long.” Sansa smiled at him, her cheeks flushing pink as she spoke. “I have missed you terribly.”

Delighted, Sandor stared as Sansa removed the hair ornaments he had given her. In spite of her injuries, her slender fingers deftly worked at the braids until her lovely hair hung freely to her waist.

“We need to make up for the nights we spent apart.” She patted the place beside her.

Sandor knew he needed to see his sister, but all thought of leaving Sansa left his mind at the sight of her sitting nude among the furs.

“Aren’t you going to join me?” Sansa teased him.

 Startled out of his reverie, Sandor immediately shifted next to her, gazing at her heatedly. “I have ached for you, wife. Thoughts of you filled my mind the moment I opened my eyes each morning and were my closest companions each night.”

Coyly Sansa laughed when he settled her into his lap. Although he knew he would be testing the limits of his self-control, Sandor allowed his hands to smooth over her shoulders until his fingers caught in the dip between her shoulder blades.

Moaning softly, she tipped her head back to give him access to her neck. “You feel so good, my beloved.”

It had only been a few hours earlier that she had cried out his name in fear, so the sound of her sweet words and soft sighs played like music in his ears. He smoothed his hands over her breasts, down the slope of her waist and across the flat plain her belly.

“Mahansani, Yaȟópeča.” _My other skin, you are extremely beautiful._ Sandor leaned in and nuzzled her neck.

Her hair fell to the side in a cascade of autumn russet like a glossy shawl spilling down her back. Unable to resist, Sandor gathered her hair in one hand while he pressed his mouth at the base of her neck and began kissing down her spine.  Each kiss was a silent prayer of thanks to the gods for her safety, and for providing such a wonderful gift to him and the people.

Sandor heard Sansa giggle self-consciously as he moved further down, the man stopping just above her waist before he drew in a deep breath, his inaction causing her to turn her head so she could look at him properly. “What are you doing, Sandor?”

“I am loving you.” Sandor murmured as he resumed his kisses. “You are so beautiful, so sweet that I cannot resist. I am most grateful you are here with me now.”

Glancing up at her, Sandor saw a look of understanding and tenderness settle in her eyes. “I too am very thankful. But we have not…I need to bathe still, Sandor.” Sansa half giggled, half whispered before she sighed contentedly.

“I do not mind.” Sandor replied somewhat absently, for he was most preoccupied by the feel and taste of her silken skin. He did not understand why his wife would think he cared at all about bathing after seven days spent apart. The scent of her warm skin called to him, as it did from the first day he met her. After all, Sansa had always been far cleaner in her habits than any of the other whites he had encountered; besides, in that moment, all that mattered to him was that they were together.

“I needs bathe too. I just want a taste of you, my wife, before I go.” Sandor finally explained as he threaded his fingers through her hair to feel the soft strands slip between his knuckles. It would be easy-too easy-for him to stay with her.  After kissing her on the mouth several times, Sandor handed her the tea and roughly rasped in her ear: “Forgive me, but I must go.”

Smiling up at him, she nodded and sipped her tea.

“You stay just as you are.” He settled her back among the bedding. “I will not be gone long.”

“Stay as long as you wish,” Sansa smiled at him. “I will be waiting for you.”

His love for her called to him to stay, to take her into his arms and love her through the night. But Sandor could not leave the matter of Long Bow to go unspoken with Running Fox a moment longer. Heaving a sigh, Sandor irritably forced himself to move away from her.

* * *

 After he carefully bathed and dressed in clean clothing, Sandor sent the women to help Sansa bathe and then went to Black Elk’s tipi. He could hear the men laughing and shouting inside.

When Bronn laid eyes on him, he rose to his feet. 

Sandor waved for the men to stay seated. “I will be glad to join you after I see my father.”

“Of course, Three Hounds,” Black Elk genially replied, studying Sandor’s face as he spoke. “I hope there is no trouble.” 

“No, the village is safe.” Sandor shook his head and then met his brother’s gaze. “It is a matter concerning our sister.”

Bronn put down his plate and stood. “I will go, too.”

“No, brother. I must do this by myself. Stay and enjoy the game,” Sandor waved him off. “I will go.”

“What of Running Fox? Is she hurt? Ill?" Black Elk anxiously asked. “Please tell me.”

“She is in good health, Black Elk, and no one has asked for her hand.”

The warrior lowered his eyes. “Forgive me, Three Hounds, it is not my place-“

“I will allow Bronn to relate it to you.” Sandor interrupted.

“Tell her and Father that we are of one mind, brother.”

 “I will.”

After bowing to Sandor, Bronn placed his hand on Black Elk’s back and steered him toward the interior. “I will tell you. Come.”

* * *

 “Father, are you inside?” Sandor stood outside in the cold evening air. Fat snowflakes had begun to drift down around him and he hoped he would not have to wait long.

“Yes. Enter, my son.”

Sandor noticed that the tear in the tipi had been sewn securely and his father’s belongings cleaned and replaced. His father’s wives hurriedly set down plates of flatbread and tea.

Standing Bear rested his head against Sandor’s and squeezed his shoulders. “I am relieved and grateful to Wakan Tanka that you and Black Water returned to me safely.”

“And I too, am grateful to Wakan Tanka for your safety and Sansa Red Wolf, as well as that of your wives and Running Fox.”

Smiling, his father offered him the seat beside him.

“What can I tell you, my son? I thought you would be well on your way to losing all of your spoil to Black Elk by now. You should be with your men.”

Assenting, Sandor went on. “I am on my way to them now.”

Running Fox sat at his feet.

“Then why have you come?” Sensing Sandor’s somber mood, his father raised his brow. “Why is your heart on the ground?”

“I have an unpleasant story to share. When Bronn and I came to the Pawnee storehouses, we met Running Fox’s brother, Long Bow.” He glanced sideways at his father and Running Fox. “He was attempting to prevent us from raiding the storehouses.”

“How did you know he was her brother?” Standing Bear leaned forward tensely. “Tell me at once.”

“He resembled her so much that we asked him.” Sandor cleared his throat. “He admitted it, and called for our deaths for stealing her. He said her mother died of grief for her loss.”

Sadly Running Fox sniffed and stared at her hands but still the young woman remained silent.

Standing Bear watched her closely. “I remember well how your own mother suffered when she grieved for Prairie Flower.” He turned to Running Fox. “I would not wish such on anyone, not even our enemies. Still, it is the way of ma king war and she knew it.”

Sandor, too, remembered how his mother wailed in anguish for his lost sister. She refused to be consoled by the women and spent many days alone, cutting her arms and legs in her misery. That was how the cavalry men and buffalo hunters came to find her on the plains.

“We told her you belonged to us now, as our sister, and that you had leftvoff the Pawnee ways.” Sandor set his jaw and continued. “I told him that you taught me the language.”

Biting her lip, Running Fox took his hand. “You were right to tell him, for it is true. Sadly, I hardly remember any of my former family.”

“You were only five winter’s old at the time I brought you to the people.” Standing Bear spoke low. “Grey Owl and Smiles A Lot both loved you dearly, Running Fox. You healed our hearts, and we were certain Wakan Tanka sent you to us.”

Burying her face in her skirts, she sobbed quietly at his words. Discreetly Black Bird and Many moons sat beside her, consoling the young woman with caresses and gentle words spoken too softly for Sandor to hear.

Sandor could see his father could not bear Running Fox’s suffering any more than he, but at the same time, he knew she must be told the truth.

“Your brother was very brave when he made war on me.” Sandor said quietly.

“You killed him.” Running Fox stated simply as she wiped her eyes. Her forlorn demeanor reminded him so much of Sansa that Sandor felt as though Long Bow's knife had indeed cleaved him.

“Yes. I had to.” Sandor went to her, holding out his arms to her in the same way he did when she was little. “I wanted to take him captive but he was very brave and would rather die than submit to us. I gave him an honorable, clean death, sister.”

For the first time in Sandor’s memory, Running Fox refused to go to him. “I…cannot. I am sorry you had to do it, Three Hounds, very sorry. I would have rather you brought him here as Father did me.” She folded her hands.

“I would rather have done that too, sister.” He replied miserably. "But he did not want it. One man cannot tell another what to do."

Standing Bear turned to Sandor. “Tell us how it happened.”

“He attacked me from behind and would have killed me but his knife blade caught in my necklace,” Sandor fingered the grizzly claws and teeth that still adorned his neck.

Running Fox turned to him then and gently ran her fingers over the cuts on his neck, murmuring softly as she did so.

“When I was about to finish him, Bronn and I noticed he looked like you, sister, and so I asked him.” He paused and looked at her. "He remembered you."

Many Moons made a paste and gave it to Running Fox, who then proceeded to paint it over his injuries without commenting on his words.

“You ought not to have risked yourself, Three Hounds. I do not care who the boy’s sister is.” Standing Bear growled out, his face darkening with displeasure as he glared at Sandor.

Running Fox respectfully kept her eyes lowered.

“Forgive me, Father,” Sandor bowed low to the ground at his father’s feet. “He was much smaller than me so he was not hard to subdue. I did not believe myself in any real danger.”

“A boy that is well trained is just as deadly as the fiercest warrior; you know that." His father shook his head. “You will not do so again.”

“No, Father.” Sandor bowed.

“Brother, I would not expect you to risk your own life,” Running Fox shook her head sadly. “I do not wish to lose you. Please, tell me what happened.” She prompted anxiously.

“The boy made war on me and sang his death song. I gave him a chance to go for his weapon before I took his life,” Sandor shifted uneasily. “I would not take his scalp, and neither would Bronn, for there was no honor in killing your brother. He buried him under many rocks and cut a lock of his hair for you.” Sheepishly Sandor then presented it to her, wrapped in the material of the young brave’s tunic. “The rocks mark the place. I will take you to visit the spot, should you wish to see it.”

Cautiously she took it from him and settled back in her seat. “Maybe in spring.” After several long moments of staring at the lock of hair, she said: “You had no choice, brother, I know that. I am glad you brought these things to me.”

“I will bury them for you, sister, or do whatever you wish with them.” Sandor offered sadly, the man willing her to feel his regret.

Slowly Running Fox moved beside him, rested her head on his, and then burst into tears.

Gently Sandor cradled her against his chest while his father watched them. After a while, he asked: “What will you have from me, my son?”

“I wish you to release Running Fox,” he stated simply. “I want her to be a free Lakota woman.  She has been a fine sister to me and Bronn Black Water,” Sandor faced her. “She has been a gift from Wakan Takan, given to our family in place of Prairie Flower. She has given me knowledge of her people’s language and has cared for my wife as her own fleshly sister. Ask of me anything you wish, Father, and I will give it to you for her. Bronn and I are in agreement in this matter."

Stunned, his sister stared up at him and then fearfully glanced at the chief.

Sighing deeply, Standing Bear stood up. “You will give me nothing, son, for you and Bronn both have brought us the gifts of winter.” He turned to Running Fox. “You are free. You may stay here or go where you wish. I will not prevent it.”

“If it pleases you, my chief, I will stay with you. You are the only father I have ever known and, despite everything, I do love you as well as all of your family just as if I sprung from your seed.” Running Fox wiped her eyes.

Standing Bear held out his hands to her and she hurriedly accepted his embrace.

“Then I will give you ten horses for the life I have taken from you,” Sandor bowed to her. “Allow me this, sister.”

“No, brother, it is too much medicine. I will take one, if only to please you.” She reached down and urged him to his feet, taking his hands in her own.

“Allow me four, then, sister. Four and no less.” Sandor gently ran his thumb over the top of her hands

“Three, brother, and not one horse more,” Running Fox spoke firmly, and so Sandor assented. She embraced him then, and the man had to blink back his tears. Her forgiveness meant much more to him than she would ever know, more that he could say; one day he meant to tell her, but for now, sharing her embrace was enough.

“I will bring them in the morning.” Sandor cleared his throat.

Running Fox nodded with a smile.

Standing Bear shook his staff over them approvingly. “My children, you have made good medicine, and I am proud. Go, Sandor, go to your men.”

His wives hurriedly embraced Running Fox and then laid gifts of fine clothing at her feet.

“Your wife fought fiercely, brother. She did you very proud. Go, Three Hounds,” Running Fox smiled at him and patted his cheek. “Go to Black Elk and then to Red Wolf.”

“I will.” Sandor grinned in return. Kneeling, he kissed her hands and then made his way out of the tipi.

* * *

 When he entered Black Elk’s tipi, all of the men looked grave. Canwiyowa, icaslohe and paslohanpi games were set up outside but it appeared none had been played.

Calmly Sandor announced: “Running Fox is a free Lakota woman now.”

Smiling, both Black Elk and Bronn stood up.

“Is she pleased?” His brother asked.

“Yes,” Sandor could not help but smile in return. “She chooses to stay with Father for now. I will give her four horses for her brother. Three was all she would accept.”

Bronn nodded approvingly.

Both men saw Black Elk swallow down his questions as he started to turn away.

“Black Elk, did you hear me? Running Fox is free.” Sandor and Bronn exchanged knowing grins.

“I am very glad,” Black Elk finally spoke, the man visibly struggling to keep his voice even. “She is a good woman.”

“Will you not ask for her hand and make your gifts?” Sandor asked. “Father will announce her freedom in the morning.”

“I…I will do so gladly, Three Hounds.” Black Elk glanced disbelievingly between Sandor and Bronn.

The rest of the men gathered began cheering loudly.

“Good, then come and let us gamble. You need all the supplies you can win, brother. A Lakota woman isn’t free.” Bronn laughingly urged Black Elk outside to the paslohanpi game.

* * *

 A/N:

Sorry but this grew quite long lol. To put this chapter into proper context, it is important to understand that Lakota war captives were treated like property and not relinquished easily, nor were they treated as anything other than slaves. In this story, however, because Sandor, Bronn and Standing Bear all happen to view their captives as God-given replacements for their dead family members (which was also very commonplace), they did not treat Running Fox as poorly as they would other Pawnee captives.  This accounts for the vast differences in the stories told by recovered captives of Native American tribes.

Running Fox was raised up with Sandor and Bronn, and for all intents and purposes, was treated as their sister. This is the primary reason Standing Bear would be willing to allow his eldest son to “buy her” so to speak; if Black Elk had attempted it, he would be rejected, and to offer to buy a member of the family would lead to bloodshed. Additionally, it was not uncommon for captives who were taken as children to not remember their former way of life or their own family, so Running Fox not remembering her brother or her Pawnee life is a typical occurrence.

It is important to keep in mind that the Lakota are a warrior nation and their values reflect that. Killing the person in battle who initiated combat was considered a necessity, so Running Fox and Sandor’s interactions are based on the fact that Running Fox would feel that Sandor had the right to kill Long Bow in battle; and while the loss of her brother would hurt and her family would assist her grieving, she would not feel as though she had to forgive Sandor anything, for he was doing only what was expected as a warrior. SHe shows her willingness to forgive him by accepting a far less amount of reparations than Sandor offers.

Sandor sees Running Fox’s grief through the light of Sansa’s losses and suffering. It is unlikely he would otherwise have felt so hurt about having to tell his sister that he killed Long Bow.

Ultimately I tried not to pass any judgment on the characters in the narrative, and related the subsequent events in a way that felt true to Lakota culture. It is not meant to make anyone out to be heroes or villains, and I leave it up to my readers to decide for themselves how they view it.

Running Fox’s behavior, (what we today would consider a subservient attitude) were typical of female Lakota of the time. Even though the free women were considered equal and had equal ownership-and many times held the primary ownership-of property, they still deferred to the male members of the tribe and served the male members of their family.

Equality within the tribe was an inalienable right; all jobs within the family were considered important and necessary to the success of everyone involved, and by extension, to the success of the tribe. No job was considered demeaning, for everyone had an important role to play and all performed valuable tasks within the family and as well as the tribe. The idea that money/education/or property equals what we would call agency is a completely foreign idea. So, it may come as a surprise to many reading this story, but Eurocentric ideas about gender roles, stay at home mothers, and “white” collar” versus “blue collar” work were (and still are) thought of as odd and somewhat barbaric among the more traditional Lakota. Incidentally, my Sami father also believed the same way.

So since Sandor has freed Running Fox, she now is a free Lakota woman, and the burden is on Black Elk to prove to Standing Bear that he can provide for her. Sandor and Bronn (as her brothers) would naturally allow him to win as much of their spoil as possible to help him win her.

Sandor's opinion of Christianity is common, as is the worshipping of other gods; to the Lakota there is nothing contradictory about worshipping both Wakan Tanka and Jesus. 

Black Elk, even in his own home, is not free to ask about the personal matters of another family. It would be considered the height of rudeness. Since Sandor killed Long Bow, it is considered his story to tell and Bronn would need his permission to share it.

Cutting is an expression of mourning only displayed by those who have lost a child. Other members of the family would shear off their hair to express their grief.

Canwiyowa (Counting Sticks Game) This is an ancient gambling game played by Lakota men during winter nights. It is also played by children and sometimes by women. All that is needed is a good number of canwiyowa (counting sticks). These are generally made of green sticks, for they are not easily broken by handling. There has to be an odd number of sticks, usually ninety-nine. They may be plain, but many times they are colored. When the game is about to begin, one of the two players picks up the pile of sticks and mixes them as well as he can. Then, he divides them into two piles. The other player has to choose which of the two piles has the odd stick. If the pile that he picks has the odd stick in it, he wins. If it doesn't, he loses.

Icaslohe (Throwing a Stick on Ice Game) another game played by Lakota men in the winter on snow or ice. Each player has a canpaslohanpi or throwing stick. It is made of ash and is about four feet long. One side is rounded, and the other is flat. The stick is held at the smaller end, between the thumb and the second, third, and fourth fingers. The first finger is across the small end, and the flat side of the stick is held upward. By swinging the hand below the hips, the stick is shot forward so that it will slide on the snow or ice. The game is to see who can slide their stick the farthest.

Paslohanpi (Sliding a Stick on Ice Game) is another winter game played on ice or snow. The hewahukezala (horned javelin) is about four or five feet long. It is thinner at one end than at the other. A tip of elk horn about four to eight inches long is fastened to the larger end. Then, the javelin is thrown so that it will glide over the snow or ice. The man whose javelin slides the farthest wins the game.


	17. The Older Women

The women came into the tipi, awakened Sansa and began readying her bath. She had not been aware that she was so tired, but now that Sandor had returned and the Pawnee were no longer a threat, Sansa realized she was exhausted from the stress of the past week.

They seemed very understanding, leading the young woman to wonder such was the norm after their experience. Snow On The Hills, whose gift for extracting precious oils from herbs she used in soaps and healing oils was well respected, had brought a selection of the finest offerings for Sansa.

Generously she allowed her to smell and choose which fragrance she liked before proceeding with the bath.  

“Three Hounds traded me for all of these. He wanted you to have the best.” She smiled softly at the young woman.

“He is as generous as he is fierce. I am blessed.” Sansa smiled to herself as she spoke. It amused her that her powerful husband-a man whom all the warriors feared and respected-was also very considerate and intuitive in his gift giving. He did not mind that the entire village knew it either. Sansa had seen the women often exchange looks over it; the men, for their part, never teased him about it.

Yet it was one thing to say claim Sandor was a fearsome warrior and quite another seeing him in action. The Lakota believed that there was much to be learned in watching the animals and now she agreed, for Sansa certainly felt she better  understood the concept of spirit animal by observing her husband. The nurturing side of Sandor had transformed into the violent ferocity of a raging mother grizzly bear when he was in battle. 

He nearly decapitated the Pawnee with whom Sansa had fought even as she was still in the man’s grasp. _He is the bear and I am the wolf._ Pushing aside her darker thoughts, she yawned and then wrapped the furs around her shoulders.

“This one is for Three Hounds.” Clever Squirrel handed her a small leather flask. “The arnica flower will ease his aches and pains from the battle.”

“Three Hounds did not say he was in pain.” Sansa worriedly knitted her brows as she remembered the cuts along his neckline. “But I saw he was injured about the neck. Should he see White Buffalo, do you think?”

“No. And he did not say as much because he will not feel it until he calms down, Red Wolf.” Snow On the Hills calmly answered. “When he relaxes, the pain will come to him.”

“Then I will use it on him when he returns,” Sansa quietly offered. “I do not wish him to suffer. But I do not think he will want me to rub oil on him.”

“He will like it very much, Red Wolf,” Small Doe giggled. “He will want even more comforting afterward, too.” All the women laughed and nodded.

Snow On The Hills cast them a severe look before returning her gaze to Sansa. “He will not object. It is also ceremonial way of welcoming him home from battle. Pouring the oil over him cleanses him and also demonstrates your appreciation and approval of his actions.”

Brightening, Sansa eagerly listened to her. “I want that for my husband. And I want to show the tribe that I appreciate and love him.” Blushingly, she stared at her hands then.  When Sansa looked up, she caught several of the women raising their brows at one another, but no one said anything. Their response both annoyed and hurt her, and so Sansa mulled over how she would handle it as they worked.

After carrying in several buckets of hot water, the women scrubbed Sansa’s skin and hair, carefully removing the remnants of the fight that stained her body. All of them praised her bravery and the good medicine she was making with her husband as they went about caring for her. The communal bathing custom of the Lakota women still somewhat embarrassed her, but Sansa soon found she enjoyed the sociality and warmth they expressed during the ritual. The women remained respectfully silent until Sansa indicated it was the right time to speak.

“Tell me why you glanced at each other with questions in your eyes,” Sansa calmly asked. “Do you not believe I would value the sacrifice my husband has made?”

“It is not that,” Clever Squirrel hurriedly answered. “It is just that wasicu are known to have difficulty understanding our ways.”

“We were not sure how you view his behavior,” Snow On The Hills explained with her eyes cast downward. “But it is not for us to ask you such a personal matter.” She glanced over at the others with a frown. “Three Hounds would not like it, and besides, it is most disrespectful.”

Sensing they were no longer talking about the battle, Sansa asked: “You aren’t sure how I would view _what_ , exactly?”

“Three Hounds asked for Running Fox’s release and their father agreed to it.” Snow On The Hills smiled at her. “He offered Standing Bear ten horses for her but she would only allow three. A very modest woman she is.”

“Oh yes, she is modest and she is also very loyal.” Puzzled, Sansa mulled over this information and why the women would question her about it. “And you expected I would disapprove?” Sansa noticed several casting inquiring glances at her, and so she added: “I am very glad that Sandor did it. She is a very good sister to me and to Healing Needle. She has helped me feel welcome here and taught me many things.” Sansa politely offered her thoughts, though inwardly she was very surprised to hear about her husband’s actions.

“We have heard that whites keep slaves and are very cruel to them,” Snow On The Hills reluctantly went on. “And many of the people were unsure if you were one who would want to keep Running Fox and not let her go.”

“It is the talk of the camp, Red Wolf.” Clever Squirrel lathered her hair. “Many Moons and Black Bird have been rejoicing that their daughter is free but no one was sure what you would think.”

“I understand that,” Sansa sharply turned toward her. “My father never owned slaves and our family disapproved of the practice. You should have asked if you wanted to know the truth.”

The women glanced anxiously at one another.

“Tell me: how long have you been speaking of this?” Sansa demanded, her irritation growing by the minute. “I have heard nothing.”

“Just since the feast began. It would have been rude to ask.”

“It is rude to not ask me and then talk behind my back!” Sansa abruptly stood.

 “I am sure they wanted to let Three Hounds tell you himself.” Small Doe hastily explained, casting a raised brow toward Clever Squirrel. “It is not meant as an offense to you, but only the proper thing.  Neither woman is Three Hound’s mother, nor is it their place to tell his personal business to his wife.”

All the women murmured in agreement and then fell silent.

 “I am very happy with his decision; I am just surprised I did not know that he meant to free Running Fox.” Sansa reassured them. “I cannot say I am surprised, for Three Hounds is a very generous man.”

The women courteously nodded. Though Sansa desperately wanted to know what led to Sandor making such an offer, Sansa respectfully held her tongue and paused to see if the women would feel compelled to provide the answer.

“Three Hounds killed Running Fox’s brother at the Pawnee food storehouses; that is why he asked for her release.” Clever Squirrel whispered in her ear as she rubbed primrose oil into Sansa’s arms and shoulders. Questions came to her lips as the young woman spoke but Sansa deferred to custom and patiently waited, hoping she would continue.

“Three Hounds would have brought him here but the brave would not submit. He made war on Three Hounds and gave him no choice.” Snow On The Hills sadly remarked. “Even Black Water said it was so. The boy was very brave. ”

“It was foolishness, not bravery, on the Pawnee’s part,” Small Doe observed. “I have many times seen Three Hounds in battle and there is no fiercer warrior. He should have given in and let him bring him to his sister rather than challenge such an intimidating warrior.”

Stunned, Sansa looked in each of the women’s faces. Sandor had to make a horrible choice and yet they were proud of his decision. She knew that he loved his sister very much and she worried about his state of mind. _He must feel so guilty_. “Why did Sandor offer to give Running Fox her freedom then, do you think?” Sansa asked, hoping the women would confirm her conclusion.

“Red Wolf, your husband made compensation to his sister even though he did no wrong.” Snow On The Hills explained after a moment of silence. “We have been most rude discussing such private matters.”

Sansa frowned at them. “I do not see why it is more rude to ask than to speak about it away from me.”

“We should not have discussed a family conversation in your home.” Small Doe anxiously stared at her. “Are you upset with us for speaking of it?”

Sansa was not angry; she was surprised, and a little annoyed about learning such a personal matter from gossip; but such was the way of the tribe. Absently she stroked the soft buffalo blanket beneath her as her thoughts went back to an earlier conversation she had with Black Elk.

“The good thing about the tribe is that we are family,” Black Elk had told her. “What one endures, the others feel too. All are there to help. When you are happy, the others are there to rejoice. You are never alone. But the bad thing about the tribe is that we are family.” He had smiled at her when she had crinkled her nose in puzzlement. “There is little privacy, and everyone thinks they have a right to express their thoughts on the most private of matters.” He laughed openly then, something she had rarely seen the fierce man do, and understood then that he knew all about the talk about him and Running Fox _. He is free to marry her now,_ Sansa bit the inside of her cheek to force away her smile. _Undoubtedly Sandor had thought of that as well._ When she looked up, all the women were anxiously watching her.

“I am glad you told me,” Sansa reassured them with a smile. “Now I will be able to act with wisdom toward Sandor when he returns. I will lay out his favorite foods and drink and put the softest furs on the bed.”

Smiling, the women all murmured their approval.

“Your old wounds are healing well,” Snow On The Hills examined her belly and throat. “But the one on your stomach bleeds anew from the fight. You must rest.” Gently she cleaned the area and applied a fresh wrap.

“She is so beautiful that Three Hounds will not notice a small mark on her belly.” Small Doe giggled and the rest of the women followed. When they had finished bathing her, the women wrapped her in the gift Sandor had brought her, a long rabbit fur robe, and then took their leave.  Their ministrations had made her drowsy, so after preparing fry bread and chokeberry tea for Sandor’s return, Sansa rested.

* * *

Soft singing drew Sansa toward the flap of the tipi. She recognized Sandor’s voice; he was offering prayers. After hastily pulling her new robe closer to her body, she slipped on her furred moccasins and stepped out into the night.

There Sandor stood just outside the entrance, staring up at the glistening stars shining through the broken snow clouds. Lady was reclining at his feet, chewing the fleshy remnants off of a rather large buffalo rib. In the distance she could hear the sounds of the revelry continuing on though out the village.

Respectfully Sansa remained silent until he finished and then held out his hand to her, beckoning her to come to him.

“I did not want to disturb you,” Sansa smiled up at him shyly. “I heard your voice and had to see what you were about.”

His eyes heatedly travelled over her before he wrapped her into his arms. “The furs look even more beautiful on you than I imagined.” He kissed her several times and then turned her toward the sky. “Look there. The snow clouds have allowed the stars to look down on us.” Sandor pointed upward. “I was looking at them while praying.”

“It is very beautiful.” Shivering, she burrowed deeper into his embrace. Slowly she traced her fingertips over the musculature of his chest and then began running soothing circles over his heart.

Sandor’s deep gray eyes lit up as he took in her bare body loosely covered by her robe. “No wonder you are cold. I will warm you.” He grinned devilishly at her.

“So, how much did Black Elk win?” Sansa blushingly asked as he continued to stare at her.

“Ten horses,” Sandor laughed low as he rubbed his hands over her. “Four bows. Two knives.”

“I have several blankets that I will give him, too.” Sansa offered, her lips ghosting his skin as she spoke. “He was very good to me.”

Frowning, Sandor tipped her face up. “What do you mean?”

Sensing that she had awakened his jealously, Sansa chose her words with care. “  He taught me to use the rifle and he protected us, as he promised you. He also taught me the proper way for a Lakota wife to behave. In English we call it etiquette. Did you not notice?”

Sniffing, Sandor settled down and nodded once before he finally he answered: “Of course I noticed. But it is not for you to pay him. You are a good student. I am proud.”

“Thank you,” Sansa smiled at him as she carefully took the feathers out of his hair. “Please, come inside and let me look you over.”

Wincing, Sandor made a noise of protest when her fingers brushed against his neck.

“Let me tend you, Sandor, please.” She moved behind him and lifted his hair to reveal still more wounds.

“Later.” Sandor pressed her back tightly against this chest. Sansa could feel the hardness of his arousal pressing against her, the feel making her woman's place throb with anticipation. “I am not done looking at the stars but I want you to stay with me.”

The night was growing bitterly cold. The stars seemed to shimmer overhead. “Do you see Wakan Tanka in them?” Sansa asked after a bit.

He shook his head. “In them, I see my past, wife. I see the faces of fallen friends.” Sandor cleared his throat. “Of my mother and son.”

“I saw the bodies of Spotted Tail and Lightning In The Sky in the shallows of the shore.” Sansa inadvertently shivered as she spoke. His huge arms pulled her closer still at this, and Sansa turned to face him and pressing her hand against the hard muscles of his chest.

“I sent Spotted Tail to give him the opportunity to die a warrior’s death rather than that of a coward at my hand.” Sandor sniffed. “I would have killed him when I returned for talking badly about you.” He sighed. “But Lighting In The Sky was just a boy.”

“Yes,” she eyed him quietly. “You knew it was dangerous to send them both ahead and yet you did it anyway?” Sansa asked softly.

Sandor nodded. “I had to warn the people. Being a warrior is not only about fighting. It is about making hard choices for the sake of the tribe. It is about sacrifice.” He tipped her face up to him. “Not all men are able to become Lakota warriors.”

“And you have distinguished yourself because you have made many such choices?” Sansa stared levelly at him. She was speaking of Long Bow but Sandor did not discern it, or if he did, he did not let on.

“Yes, I have made many hard choices. I have killed when I would have rather talked." Sandor averted his eyes, turning them heavenward once more. “And it is harder now.”

Puzzled, she held his face in her hands. “Why?”

“I never wish to leave you again,” Sandor pulled her close and whispered into her hair. “Never. That is why it is hard.”

“It is hard for me, too.” Sansa held his gaze. “I never want to be parted from you, either.”

“My beautiful wife,” Sandor slid out of her embrace, knelt in front of her and rested his cheek against the bare skin of her belly. “You should not have come outside in only a fur robe for everyone to see because you were worried.” She could tell he was not scolding her, but rather he was secretly pleased by the gesture.

“Yes, I did, and I do would do far more than that.” Giggling, Sansa ran her fingers through his hair, freeing it, relishing the feeling of the silky strands through her fingers. “But we are alone, my love, for the camp still is celebrating. Hear the sounds of the feast?"

Sandor looked up at her and grinned.

"I came out like this in hopes I could persuade you to leave it and come in.” Sansa twirled a lock of his hair.

“I need no convincing, believe that.” Gently he kissed her on her stomach and then nuzzled his way lower until he slipped his tongue between her folds.

Gasping,  Sansa moaned and grabbed his head with both hands, pressing him closer to her thighs. Dazedly she glanced around to see if the people were watching them. No one was about.

“It is my turn to feast,” Sandor rasped low as he continued tasting her. His hands smoothed over her bare skin, and Sansa both heard and felt the low satisfied noise he made in his throat. Her furs began to fall away from her body, and so Sandor lifted her into his arms and carried her inside. "We need more privacy."

"Hmm yes," she murmurred while kissing his neck.

After Sandor laid her down among the furs of their bedding, he then stripped off his clothing, save the breech cloth.

Swallowing hard, Sansa drank in the sight of his heavily muscled body on display. Chuckling at her reaction, he laid down beside her.

“You are bruised all over; can you not feel it?” Gently she traced her fingers over his jawline as she took in the dark purple circles that had begun blooming along his collar and abdomen.

“I only feel you, wife; nothing else.” Sandor groaned out loudly. “I missed you.” Tenderly he took each of her hands and kissed them, then began slowly running his hands over her thighs and backside in smooth, even strokes.

The warmth from his body heated her blood; they were so close and yet still not close enough for Sansa. She needed to feel him inside her, to be one with him, and her passion was making her impatient.

Grinning devilishly at him, Sansa eased Sandor back into the furs and then gently straddled his waist. “Good. I only want you to feel my love for you, nothing more.” She shrugged off her robe, exposing all of her nude body to him. “I missed you too.”

Speechless, Sandor incredulously stared up at her. Sansa watched as his gaze lowered from her face to slowly take in her body, his eyes lingering over her curves and then down to the place where her body rested against his abdomen, all the while running his hands over her in an almost worshipful manner.

Cupping her breasts, Sandor ran his thumb lightly over her nipples, causing Sansa to arch into his touch, making her even more eager for what was to come. Sansa longed to tear his breechcloth off of him and have her way with him, but Sandor’s movements were so loving and wonderful that Sansa was determined she would not let her overwhelming desire for him break the sweetness of the moment.

Gently she reached down and unlaced the ties on either side of his breech cloth, revealing his hardened manhood leaking clear fluid at the tip. Lightly she smoothed the liquid over the head, drawing a long moan from his throat.

The aching, throbbing heat between her legs was becoming nearly unbearable. Her husband seemed to sense this, for he slipped his hand in between her thighs and began rubbing her there. Blushing, she met his gaze. The heated look on Sandor’s face told her that he found her soaked with the wetness of her desire.

“I have wanted you for so long…” he panted out. “I cannot wait. Let me have you now.”

"Yes," Sansa moaned as she straddled him.

With that Sandor thrust up into her, crying out loudly as he did so. Carefully he positioned her in his lap so that he could easily continue to enter her and then began deeply rolling his hips, holding her gaze all the while.

Sighing softly, Sansa let out a low moaning breath, giving herself over to the pleasure of feeling his manhood inside her. Gripping her hips fiercely, Sandor sat up and growled against her lips as they began to thrust hard against each other, their bodies settling into a vigorous rhythm while their mouths hungrily sought out the other.

Shamelessly Sansa arched her back and cried out his name as she felt the flood of wetness from her release soak them both. Her thighs quivered, but still she continued to move with him.

“Such an eager little bird,” Sandor delightedly murmured against her skin. “So willing to come for me.”

Without any hesitation Sandor flipped her on to her back and suddenly she felt his hot, hard cock sliding along the folds of her aching slit before he entered her once more with one swift upward thrust, drawing a cry of pleasure from Sansa’s throat.

Sansa’s passionate response shattered all of Sandor’s restraint, and he slammed his hips against her, driving his manhood into her at a frenetic pace while groaning and crying out her name with each thrust.

Sansa wrapped her legs around him tightly so she could buck her hips hard and take him in as deeply as possible.  It felt so good, better than anything she had ever felt, and Sansa writhed and cried out with abandon along with Sandor as their bodies settled into a heated rhythm once more. His hands roamed over every inch of her as he loved her, the feeling of his warm skin sliding against her own setting her own heated desire ablaze.

Sandor's whole body trembled and he quickened his thrusts all the while panting into her ear that he loved her, that she was perfect, that she was his second skin. Waves of passion radiated from deep in her core until Sansa repeatedly cried out his name and shook with her releases, the young woman calling out to him until her voice was hoarse from her love cries.

“Sansa, my Red Wolf, my love, my wife, oh gods...” Sandor cried out desperately as he frantically thrust into her. She felt his entire body tense as his peak rushed upon him. After Sandor emptied his release inside of her, he then buried his face in the crook of her neck and whispered that he loved her. He did not immediately withdraw from her, and instead rested his face against her chest.

Cradling him against her breast, Sansa softly murmured his name and stroked his hair. “I love you, Sandor.”

“As I love you, my Red Wolf, my Sansa.” Sandor sighed against her. "I will never let you go."


	18. Sister of the Wolf

Sandor watched as the lanterns flickered golden shadows against the deep brown buffalo fur lining their winter lodge. Though pleasantly exhausted from his reunion with Sansa, sleep eluded him. The camp was mostly quiet, though Sandor occasionally heard sounds of celebration.

The warm softness of Sansa’s skin surrounded him, filling him with the sweet scent of the precious oils Snow On The Hills had given her. Sighing softly, his wife snuggled down closer to him in her sleep, her beautiful face peaceful and relaxed. Her breathing was deep and measured, and he could feel her heart beating in time with his own, and his heart swelled with pride that Sansa felt secure in his arms at last.

It was as it should be; he had done his duty as her husband, allowing her to be truly safe. Wrapping her in tightly in his embrace, the man held onto her firmly, for despite his efforts, he still could not shake the feel that she was somehow in danger of being taken from him. In his heart, Sandor knew there was no more he could do to protect her; yet still he was troubled.

The rage he felt earlier had been so intense that it unnerved him. He had inflicted a frightening amount of damage on the Pawnee who held Sansa, and his body shook for the better part of an hour after the fight was over. Never before had the seasoned warrior experienced such a powerful reaction, and it made Sandor certain that he had been granted an extraordinary, supernatural amount of strength from Wakan Tanka.

With the help of the Great Spirit, Sandor had kept his oath to her. He killed her attacker and buried his scalp with the remnants of her wasicu dress, all far away from her view; Sandor would not subject her to that, for Sansa had been through enough. Afterward, he had made her a medicine bag to defend against the Pawnee, which, according to their ways, he would give to her at dawn.

When Sansa came out to check on him, Sandor was praying on the matter of her safety, entreating Wakan Tanka to reveal the source of the gnawing fear growing in his stomach. A sharp shiver went through him at the memory. Shaking his head, he rolled over onto his side and tried to put the nagging thoughts out of his mind.

The camp was mostly quiet. In the distance Sandor heard the cry of a lone wolf echoing off the granite walls of the mountain. _My wife’s people fought for her today, and tonight they call to her_. Did the wolves mean for her to join them? As he pondered this, Lady added her voice to the mournful cries, which soon surrounded the camp.

“Sandor, listen.” He felt her smile against his chest.

“Your people.” Sandor whispered into her hair. “They call to you. They celebrate your safety.”

“ _Our_ people, Sandor.” Sansa gently corrected him before placing a soft kiss on his neck. “We are the wolf and the bear _together_.”

Pleased, he stroked her cheek tenderly. “As you say.”

Before long, several people were calling to him outside. Irritably Sandor rose, tied on his breechcloth, and yanked open the flap.

“What is it?” He snarled at them. “You are disturbing my reunion with my wife.”

“Her wolf, the one she calls Lady…” Fast Horse began anxiously, his words withered in his throat under Sandor’s furious gaze.

“Yes?” Sandor stared into the man’s face. “What of her?”

“She calls her pack to the camp.”

Sandor glanced around. “The wolf is not here. How is she able to call her pack to a location that she is not in?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bronn step outside. Rage coursed through him, and Sandor stood clenching his fists as he waited for an answer.

“But-“

“But nothing!” Sandor shouted loud enough that the sound reverberated off the canyon walls.

Quietly Sansa moved beside him, her face masked in concern and fear.

“What is it, Sandor?” She glanced around her.

He noticed Sansa was now dressed, and that her hands trembled as she smoothed down her skirt.

Turning his attention toward his wife, Sandor held out his hand to her.

“Come to me, Mahansani.”

She accepted it without hesitation. 

The people stood in uncomfortable silence as Sandor settled Sansa in front of him and rested his hands on her shoulders protectively.

“I will hear no more about my wife’s wolf, do you hear my voice?” He announced. “She is her sister, her flesh and blood. I will not ask her to silence her or to send her off. Wakan Tanka will decide when she leaves, not you or anyone else!”

White Buffalo soundlessly approached the group. She held a small bundle of smoking sage in her hands.

“Three Hounds, you speak your words forcefully for your wife’s family and that is good.”

Sandor leaned closer to her, fixing his gaze on the holy woman.

“The people are afraid of the animal.” She passed the smoke over him, and Sandor quietly submitted. “They did not mean to cause offense.”

“But they _did_ cause offense. They offend me, my wife, and her sister with their sniveling.” Snorting in disgust, Sandor spat on the ground. “Tell me, what has come to pass that the Lakota stopped learning from the wolf? Why should we fear it?”

No one responded.

“Likely many wolves have entered camp in the night and leave without notice. The ancestors send them to us. But this wolf, the wolf you have all seen my wife care for, left in the night and sent the entire village into a panic with her call.”

“It is powerful medicine, Three Hounds. Her bond is fear inspiring. The people have never seen the bond between animal and woman like your wife shares with the wolf.” White Buffalo answered quietly. “It is natural that they should react in such a way.”

Sighing irritably, Sandor glared at her. Briefly his mind flickered back to when he heard Sansa’s terror filled cry. His heart leapt into his throat at the sound; at that moment he had been too far away to help her. It was as if he and the wolf shared her fear in the moment, as though some inexplicable bond forged them as one.

Sandor willed the man dead as he kicked his horse in the flanks; but the wolf answered his wish and tore into the Pawnee warrior, the animal’s ferocity fueled by Sansa’s fear. The spiritual connection between him, Sansa and beast had been undeniable. It both thrilled and frightened him, for Sandor recognized it was the enlightenment of the wolf dreams for which he had prayed.

He had no intention of sharing this with the tribe, however; it was a private matter between him and the wolf. Cocking her head, White Buffalo winced slightly as she watched him, waiting for his reply.

“I know that well.” Sandor stated simply, his instinct to protect Sansa returning to him once more. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his father walking toward them, but he was too angry to care. “But I will not disrupt Red Wolf’s bond with her sister because of the squeaking of a few frightened rabbits. I will fight anyone who dares challenge me on this. Who is ready to die?”

Trembling, Sansa gently touched his hand, silently imploring him to be quiet.

“It will not come to that, Sandor.” Bronn commented quietly. “Will it?” He glanced around the crowd.

All murmured their agreement.

Relief and exhaustion settled over him then. Sandor had enough of the people; he wanted to be alone with Sansa, for Lady’s sudden departure sent him to wondering if the animal had been sent on an errand to protect his wife.

“Be gone, all of you.” Sandor dipped his head toward his father, who returned the gesture.  

Taking Sansa by the hand, he led her inside and tied the flap closed behind them.

“Sandor-“ She bit her bottom lip, which was still pleasantly swollen from their lovemaking.

He held up his hands to her.

“You need not defend your right to keep your wolf to me or anyone. She chose _you_ , White Buffalo told me. She is a gift from Wakan Tanka and no one has the right to question it.”

Throwing her arms around him, Sansa let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

“You need not thank me,” Sandor stroked her hair, the man pleasantly surprised by her show of affection. “I would never deny you, Sansa Red Wolf; you know that.”

“I _do_ know that,” Sansa stood on her toes and lightly brushed her mouth over his. “Having her in camp has proven upsetting to some people. It was the same way even before you returned. They told Black Elk. Some even wanted to kill her.”

Sandor sharply turned toward her. “Who wanted to kill her?”

“Black Elk would not tell me,” Sansa wrung her hands. “But he told the people he would kill the man whose arrow he found in her.”

Black Elk was right to make that statement, and he meant to reward him for it. Drawing a deep breath, Sandor struggled to still his rage.

“But truly Sandor, I don’t think Lady wouldn’t hurt anyone…”

“Sansa,” Sandor interrupted her. “She is your sister. I will protect her just as I protect you.” He felt her relax in his arms then. “No one will kill her. Do you believe me?”

Sansa nodded and then wrapped her arms around him. Sandor pulled her closer still, and Sansa pressed her face to his chest. Her icy cheek against his skin caused Sandor to shiver.

“Come, let us go back to the furs.”

Carefully he laid her down and then took his place beside her, propping himself up on an elbow so he could look into her face. Shyly Sansa played with the ends of his hair that brushed against her skin, looking as though she wanted to speak. Not wanting to rush her, Sandor patiently waited while tracing his fingertips over the deep valley between her ample breasts.

“I heard what you did for Running Fox.”

Sandor watched Sansa swallow hard as she waited for his words. He found the simple gesture upsetting, for it told him that she feared his response. He did not want her to guard her words with him. Carefully he cupped Sansa’s face in his hand and caressed her profile with his thumb.

“And?”

“I-I know why you did it, Sandor. I know about her brother.”

 _The women must have told her_.

“Do you disapprove?” Sandor averted his gaze from her own, instead focusing on running the rough pad of his thumb over her collarbone. He felt her hand cup his cheek and tip his face up to hers.

“No, of course not,” she leaned in and kissed him softly. “I feel terrible that you were put in such a position. And I’m glad you did it.” Sansa nervously bit her lip.

“I would think you would be.” Bitterly Sandor attempted a short laugh. “Otherwise you would have found yourself a widow. I’m sure one of my braves would have wanted to take you straightaway.”

Sansa remained quiet, her eyes so full of sadness that it shamed him. Turning away, Sandor dismissively shrugged.

“I did what had to be done, not what I wanted to do.”

“What did you want to do?” Sansa gently probed as she caressed his face.

When he remained silent, she did not press him. Sansa lifted a flask of oil and pour a small amount into her hands, warming it with her touch and then climbed behind him and began kneading his shoulders.

“I wanted to bring him here,” Sandor ran his hands through his hair. “I wanted to give my sister the chance to meet her brother. I doubt she even knew the boy existed before tonight.” He was mad at himself still, and mad at the boy as well. “But Long Bow only wanted war, not talk.”

“He was taught to hate you because you are Lakota.”

He had been taught to hate the Pawnee, too, but the man had been unaware that whites knew of such teachings. Curiously Sandor moved to face her.

“How did you know?”

“The wolf told me.” Her eyes twinkled mischievously as she needled his stomach.

“Quit your playing.” Sandor growled, though he smiled at her in return. “Tell me truly.”

“It is not so very different with whites, Sandor,” Sansa leaned back on her heels so she could run her knuckles over his low back.

“We are taught the Indian is a savage, an enemy, a pestilence on the land. We are taught that you are no different than the animals.”

Sandor pondered her words. Beyond the insults, it was true that the people did their best to study and imitate the animals, for there was much to be learned from them.

“Is it considered bad to imitate the animals, to learn from them?” He asked, puzzled. “You have many hunters among your people.”

Sadly she nodded. “They mean it as an insult, that you are lawless, that you kill without reservation the way animals do. That is why the whites react with violence when they first come in contact with the people.”

“Animals have the law of Wakan Tanka written in their hearts. They know how to hunt, find food, and defend their land, care for their young, and shelter during the winter. They do not need another law. That is why we imitate them.” He felt his anger rising. “Whites think they are better than Lakota?” He gripped her chin. “You were taught that we are less than whites?”

Her cheeks flushed red under his scrutiny. Lowering her eyes, she whispered: “Yes. Not just Pawnee or Lakota, but all Indians. Truthfully I never knew what to believe. That is why I was so afraid of you. I judged you by what the Pawnee had done, not the kindness you had shown me.”  Sansa lowered her head, ashamed.

Sandor listened to her words carefully and without judgment, for it was the first time his wife offered him insight on her people’s way of thinking and he knew he needed such information if he was to effectively deal with the whites.

“The shame is not yours,” he finally replied as he cradled her head in his hands. “You are the new bud of a blossoming flower, barely opening to the world. How would you know any different?” Sandor sighed. “The shame belongs to those who tell such lies.”

Sansa kissed his open palm. “Can you forgive me?”

“There is nothing to forgive.” Sandor pulled her onto his lap and kissed her soundly. “I had the same fear of being stolen by the whites. I have hated them for killing my mother, for taking our lands. I have also hated the Pawnee. I cannot fault you for what I have felt.”

“Thank you.” Sansa kissed his hands.

“They believe us to be animals; is that why they steal the whites we have taken? Is that why you would never be welcome back among your own people?”

“I do not wish to hurt you by saying so, but yes.” She took his hands in her own. “After being with your and the people, I learned differently. My heart opened to you. I fell in love with you.”

Leaning forward, she wrapped her arms around him. “I doubt I could make other whites understand. Perhaps one day it the Pawnee and Lakota will open up to one another and learn not to hate. Then this sort of situation could be avoided.”

“I doubt it, wife.” Sandor smirked, then swallowed his derision when he noticed her skin reddening and her blue eyes flashing angrily. “It is not our way to have dealings with them. They are enemies to be preyed upon.”

“Perhaps my idea _is_ just wishful thinking.” Sansa slowly stroked her oil slickened hands over his shoulders. “I am new here, and new to your ways as well. But you can lead your people in any way you wish, husband.”  

Pausing, she seemed to want to say more but she remained silent, instead turning her attention to massaging him once more

“It is _not_ what I wish."

Frustrated, Sandor stilled her hands. He did not want to make war on the Pawnee the rest of his life, nor did he relish spending his life worrying about them raiding his home and storehouses. But Sandor had never known another way, nor had he even considered the possibility of change.

“It is the way things are.” Sandor finally spoke. “It is the way they have always been.”  He longed to say more to her, but Sandor decided he would hold his tongue. Her words had both confused and intrigued him, and Sandor wanted more time to think them over before he responded to her.

Sansa did not reply, instead focusing her attentions on massaging his back and shoulders. When finished, she then moved onto his lap and began running the oil onto his abdomen.

“I will support you, Sandor, whatever you do, because we are family.”

Her touch was beginning to unman him. Letting out a deep breath, Sandor rasped, “I know, wife.”

He held her hands, stilling them.

“When I am chief, Sansa, I do not wish to lead them on my own.”

“What do you mean?” She tilted her head at him.

“You tell me the truth. You make me look at things in a way I never considered.” Sandor paused. “Never hide your words from me. I wish you always to speak your heart to me, as you have now,” he leaned in closer to her. “I need your help, wife, to lead the people.”

“But that is not the Lakota way-“ Sansa shook her head.

“It is _our_ way,” Sandor gripped her chin firmly, willing her to feel the depth of his sincerity. “Yours and mine. It is the way of the wolf and the bear, together, to teach the people. Will you join me in leading the people?”

Tears glistened in Sansa’s eyes then. “I will husband, I promise.”

They held each other close.

“Enough seriousness. Let us talk of more pleasant things now.” Sansa smiled up at him playfully.

Sandor nodded with a grin. He wasn’t sure what she was up to but he had seen that look on her face before, and had always enjoyed the outcome immensely.

“Your hands feel so good.” Sandor moaned out as she smoothed her hands over his chest and down each arm.

“White Buffalo said it was the customary way to welcome a returning warrior and I want to make sure you are properly received. I am doing this to show I appreciate you and all you have done for me as well as the tribe.”

Rhythmically Sandor began to run his hands over her thighs while Sansa’s hands slid over his smooth flesh.

“Now it is time I welcome you home properly in my own way.” She gave him a naughty grin and moved off of his lap, much to his disappointment.

Gliding her hands over the tops of his thighs, Sansa knelt between his legs before bending her head and running her tongue over the sensitive skin of his cock, sliding her mouth slowly up and over the length and then tasting the slit.

Apprehension and raw lust warred within Sandor. He did not want to demean her. It did not take long before his body betrayed him, and he felt a rush of fluid come out of the head.

To his surprise, Sansa showed no signs of revulsion; instead she licked him thoroughly before she took him into her mouth once more and hungrily began suckling his length until he felt the tip press against the back of her throat.

His excitement began to build and crest so that Sandor could barely think.

"Sansa, no more, please," he begged, not wanting to lose what little control he had left and debase her in a way he feared that she would find offensive.

When Sandor tried to move away to spill his seed, Sansa stunned him once more by soundly resisting, and instead she took him into her mouth as far as she could and sucked hard on his swollen manhood, her actions bringing matters to a head most expertly. Gasping, Sandor reached his peak with a forceful cry that he was certain was heard throughout the entire camp.

Outside the titter in of the people made its way to his ears, but Sandor was so spent that he could not be made to care. When he regained his senses, he opened his eyes to see a very self-satisfied Little Bird staring at him with a smile.

“Come here, wife,” he panted out as he gathered her in his arms. Tenderly Sandor then kissed her on the forehead, mouth and on each of her cheeks. “You did not-I did not expect-“ he stammered for the right words.

“I know you didn’t,” Sansa smiled sweetly at him, her innocent expression in stark contrast to the very licentious act she had just performed on him. “And that is why I wanted to love you in such a way. You seemed to enjoy it.”

Laughing, Sandor nodded as he bent his head down to kiss her once more. “After that welcome, I needs rest, wife, but when I awaken I will love you in kind.”

Her eyes twinkled as Sansa smiled wickedly once more. “I would like that very much, husband.”

Loud rustling drew their attention to the back wall of the tipi.

“Come,” Sandor drew Sansa up out of the furs. “Let us peek outside.”

“At what?” Sansa whispered conspiratorially.

Pressing his finger to his lips, Sandor then deftly unlaced the bottom of the tent and lifted it.

“See there.” He pointed toward Standing Bear’s tent.

All around the outside, Black Elk had neatly stacked many gifts for Running Fox, and his father and Bronn were bringing them inside the tipi.

“Oh! This is so exciting!” Sansa excitedly clapped her hands together. “Does that mean we will have a wedding tomorrow?”

“Yes,” Sandor grinned down at her. “I will help Black Elk put up a tipi for her. After we finish putting the gifts inside, then the wedding will take place.”

Squealing, Sansa threw her arms around him, her actions delighting the man. “I hope they are as happy as we are!”

“As do I, wife.” Suddenly serious, Sandor tipped her face up to him and brushed his lips over her own. “As do I.” With that, he tied the flap closed, lifted her into his arms, and carried her back to the furs.


	19. The Wedding

Despite their pleasurable exertions the night before, Sansa was up before dawn. After helping Sandor bathe, she washed and plaited his hair with eagle feathers and then helped him into his finest tunic and leggings.

“You look so very handsome, Sandor.” Sansa smiled as she tenderly looked up at him. “I am lucky to have such a lover.”

He no longer felt the need to wince when hearing those words; still, the very sound of them rendered him momentarily speechless.

Her hands trembled as she tied up the lacings on each side of his legs.

Stilling her, Sandor caressed her face. “Why do your hands shake, wife? You do not still fear, do you?”  His eyes searched hers worriedly.

“I’m not troubled, love. I am just so very excited for Running Fox and Black Elk that I can hardly conduct myself in the appropriate Lakota way,” Sansa admitted enthusiastically, the young woman gleefully clapping her hands together and bouncing on her heels as she spoke.  “I don’t know how I’ll get through the day without breaking custom.”

Chuckling, Sandor kissed her hands. “I will not care if you do, and I will fight anyone who dares scold you.”

“Such talk. No one will do that.” Sansa smiled as she nodded outside the flap toward Black Elk, who just then paused his work to stare longingly at Standing Bear’s tipi. “They have cared for one another for a long time; you can see it in the way they behave toward one another.”

“Yes. Black Elk always thought he hid his emotions but he could not.” Sandor confessed quietly. Even though it went against convention, it felt good to talk to his wife about it. “And Running Fox, she tried so hard not to look at him that Bronn knew right away.”

“That’s so sweet.”  Sansa’s eyes sparkled with happiness, her jubilation sending a corresponding surge of love to Sandor’s heart. Thinking it best to leave their home lest he be tempted to take her again, Sandor led his wife outside into the crisp morning air.

Glancing around at the freshly fallen snow, Sandor rasped low: “It is a good day for a wedding.”

Sansa’s cheeks turned rosy at once. “Yes, my love.” She cast a shy look at him.

Black Elk and Bronn were already moving his offerings next to the rock circle for the new tipi. Both men waved at the couple as they stepped outside.

“I should help them.” Sandor smiled down at her, running his the back of his index finger over her cheek.  Even after the long night they spent together, he was loathe to leave her.

Sansa stood up on her toes and kissed him on the mouth. “Go. I’m going to help Running Fox get ready.”

His eyes followed her as she walk away from him. The morning sun set her auburn hair afire, and Sandor was fascinated by the way it glinted in the light.

“Brother,” Bronn grinned at him, interrupting his thoughts with a sharp slap on the back. “You are late.”

Black Elk averted his eyes as he approached. “Three Hounds, I am grateful for Running Fox.”

“She cares for you,” Sandor rested his hand on the man’s shoulder. “It is as it should be. Wakan Tanka be with you both.”

Smiling, Black Elk nodded once and returned to his work.

The tipi poles came from the finest straight young pine trees Black Elk could find in the Black Hills.  Fast Horse, Rain In His Face and Gun In The Water erected the heaviest poles that were used to make a tripod, which was the basis of the distinctive three-pole design. The lighter poles were then placed in the forks of the tripod, creating the frame. The men wrapped the rope around the poles where they met at the top, and the end was tied to an anchor peg in the ground directly below.

As the others worked, Long Claw, White Hawk and Sandor sat down and proceeded to neatly sew together the sixteen luxuriant hides with sinew thread to make one large cover, which included smoke flaps and a door hole and would fit snugly around the framework of the poles.

When finished, they placed the cover around the frame by means of a lifting pole. First they spread the cover on the ground. Then they attached the lifting pole to the middle of the cover and folded in the sides of the cover to meet the pole. Then they hoisted up the lifting pole with the cover attached and placed it in position at the back of the tipi frame.

Next they unfolded the cover from the lifting pole and wrapped it around the frame until the two sides met at the front.  Sandor meticulously pinned the two sides together where they met with lacing pins while Rain In His Face built a smoky fire inside. When Sandor’s lacing was completed, the men closed the tipi tightly, the smoking providing waterproofing as well as assuring the hides retained their softness despite exposure to the weather. 

Afterward the men pegged the cover to the ground all the way around the bottom.  Black Elk tied red fox tails, grizzly teeth and elk bone to the flap handle. When several hours passed, Bronn opened the smoke flap pole at the top to let out the smoldering.

When the air cleared inside tipi, Sandor announced: “The inside is ready to be furnished.”

The men hurriedly carried in the many parcels Black Elk had prepared for his bride. When they were done, Margaery opened the flap of Standing Bear’s tipi. Sansa came outside followed by Running Fox. She was freshly bathed and adorned in her finest dress, Sandor noticed; so did Black Elk, who swallowed hard and held his hand out to her.

“You are beautiful, my wife.” He whispered into her ear and then gently kissed her hand.

Shyly she smiled up at him. “Your work is very fine, husband. You honor me.” The couple examined their new home and spoke quietly to one another as the final preparations were made on the interior of the tipi.

* * *

Discreetly Black Bird, Many Moons, Sansa and Margaery went inside where they fashioned beds made of buffalo hides and fox skin pillows stuffed with dried lavender and grasses. Back rests made of willow poles served as chairs. Intricately painted parfleches and baskets designated for clothing and food, woven bedding and blankets were neatly put in their places. Black Elk’s war shield, pouches and weapons adorned the walls.

Thrilled, the women giggled as they worked. Sansa could feel the sense of excitement in the air, and she felt truly happy for her sister in law. White Buffalo solemnly set up an altar behind the central fire and then burned sweet grass, sage and cedar on the altar as a tribute to the spirits before the wedding.

Black Elk and Running Fox entered the tipi arm in arm, the couple beaming at each other.  Sandor smiled at Sansa, who, despite the dignified air of the medicine woman standing beside her, could not help but grin in return. White Buffalo said a blessing and then the men and women took their leave, allowing the couple to look over the inside in private.

“They both look so happy!” Sansa whispered to Sandor, who eagerly nodded at her words. “And you made them a fine home, my love.”

“I did nothing but put it up,” Sandor demurred, though Sansa could see pride twinkling in his eyes as she spoke. “It is Black Elk’s responsibility to make it a home.”

“To the feast!”  The chief shouted and shook his staff in the air, his pronouncement interrupting them.

The noises and delicious smells of the marriage festival wafted toward them. Sansa and Sandor glanced over to Black Elk and Running Fox, whose ears reddened as the sights and sounds of the wedding feast commenced upon their arrival. Leaning down, Sandor kissed Sansa on the cheek, leading the people closest to them to cheer wildly and shout good wishes for a child.

The people gathered in the cooking area. Large racks of buffalo ribs roasted on spits while huge pots of wojapi soup and wohanpi stew were poured over flatbread into troughs and served to the attendees. The women led Sandor, Sansa, Margaery and Bronn to the place of honor at the front.

”It’s all so very lovely.” Sansa squeezed his arm tightly, humming along with the music.

The marriage dance began. Women and children formed a large circle in the center of five drummers beating. When the participants grew weary, they reclined nearby while they nourished themselves before resuming their dancing once more.

Sansa and Margaery surprised the people by participating in all the festivities, eating until their hearts were content and dancing until their legs could no longer carry them. Delighted, Sandor and Bronn looked on approvingly.

The dancing and feasting continued throughout the day, and Sansa enjoyed herself immensely. It felt wonderful to be part of a family again, and she reveled in it.

As late afternoon approached, the betrothed couple were accompanied by their friends to visit their new abode until White Buffalo announced that the hour of proclaiming their marriage had arrived.

Rain In His Face, Bronn, Gun In The Water and Sandor spread a large blanket, each one taking hold of a corner and holding it high in the air. The wedding couple stepped under it while the remainder of the party formed a line behind them.

White Buffalo gave the order to march through the camp, leading the procession throughout the village as she loudly proclaimed the nuptials and sounded the praises of the happy pair.

The ceremony did not conclude until near sundown, the progress of the march being continually interrupted by the proffered congratulations of friends and family members. After the parade had ended, the couple separated until night began to spread over the village.

Black Elk rose and went to his new home. Soon the kindled fire began to smoke from the top of the new tipi.

“Now what happens?” Sansa whispered into Sandor’s ear from her place on his lap. Laughing, he squeezed her close.

“The men will assemble and wait for you and the other women to bring Running Fox.”  Sandor answered as he rose and settled her on her feet.

“Oh, how romantic!” She dusted off her leggings happily. “What fun this all is!”

As darkness fell, Margaery, Snow On The Hills, Clever Squirrel, Many Moons and Black Bird collected Sansa to escort Running Fox to her new husband.

When they came to the lodge, the flap of the door having been thrown back for the occasion, the men took hold of Running Fox, carried her into the tipi and deposited their burden at the feet of Black Elk, much to Sansa’s surprise.

“It is a playful imitation of surrendering her to the enemy.” Bronn winked at her.  Margaery rolled her eyes but played along.

"You are mine." Black Elk proclaimed and held out his hand.  Eagerly she accepted and he helped her to stand beside him, the man smiling down at her as he did so.

‘What Wakan Tanka has joined, let no one separate.” White Buffalo pronounced as she passed the smudging sage over them.

With that, everyone cheered and called out blessings before they departed.

Sansa felt Sandor’s large presence behind her as they moved outside. “That is the ceremony.” He wrapped his large hands around her middle, pressing her back tightly against his chest.

“It is over?” She looked up at him questioningly.  “Already?”

Somewhat subdued in his demeanor, Sandor watched her closely; Sansa could see he wondered what she thought of it all in light of their own sparse marriage ceremony. Smiling, he brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes.

“Yes, wife. What do you think of the Lakota wedding?”

“It is so beautiful, Sandor, truly.” Sansa wiped her happy tears from her face. “I enjoyed it immensely.”

“It was nothing like ours.” Sandor studied her face. Sansa dared not look away. “Do you not wonder why?”

“If I needed to know, you would tell me.” Sansa chewed her bottom lip.

 “It was because you were taken and given to me,” Sandor offered. “It is different for us.”

“It does not matter,” she stared at him for a moment, then leaned forward and kissed him. “A wedding does not make a marriage. I love you. I am happy with you, husband; that is all that is important to me.”

Smiling down at her, Sandor kissed her several times and then led her inside.

At once Running Fox began preparing supper for the remaining guests who had returned to the tipi: Standing Bear, Rain In His Face, Gun In The Water, Sandor, Sansa, Bronn and Margaery.

“Should we not make our excuses and leave so they can be alone?” Sansa leaned into Sandor and whispered into his ear.

“No, it would be the height of rudeness,” Sandor answered into her hair, disguising his words by kissing her on the top of the head. “We will remain and spent the evening with them.”

“Alright.” Sansa answered uncertainly as she glanced between Black Elk and Running Fox.

Her sister in law’s cheeks glowed pink in the firelight. As she served her guests, Running Fox would cast shy glances at her husband. For his part, Black Elk would heatedly regard her as he watched her go about her duties, at times even breaking convention by assisting her.

“He will be a good husband,” Sansa commented as she surveyed her husband observing the pair. “I would not worry for her, my love.”

“I am not worried,” he waved his hand dismissively. “Still, it is not easy to part with her. She comes under his protection now.”

“Yes,” Sansa giggled at him. “She is no longer only your little sister. She is Black Elk’s wife.”

Sighing heavily, Sandor nodded. “Yes she is. Come,” he took her by the hand. “It is time we leave them alone to their evening.”

Following Sandor’s lead, everyone offered their final congratulations and then departed for the feasting area, where they ate and danced until the first light of dawn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In traditional Lakota culture, the burden was on the man to prove he is ready for marriage and the choice of mate was entirely up to the woman. Men were not allowed to even speak to her without the woman’s consent, even though the fathers often “arranged” the marriage. A woman had to accept the offer of courtship, and if she did not, her choice was respected.
> 
> The gifts Black Elk gives are neither a dowry nor bride price. It was not up to the father whether or not they were accepted; again, it was the woman’s choice. A man could not marry until he had been on several successful hunting and raiding parties to prove that he was capable of protecting and defending his family as well as provide food and clothing. The gifts were given to set up housekeeping and proof that the groom was well equipped to care for his wife and any future children. It showed he had given the marriage a great deal of consideration, for it would often take a warrior a year or longer to accumulate such goods.
> 
> An engaged person was already spoken of as married, for no one stayed engaged for long; once the proposal was accepted, the couple were married as soon as the groom let his intentions be known to the tribe and gathered the gifts for the bride.
> 
> Traditionally the mother of the groom would prepare the hides that would make up the couple’s new tipi. Since neither Running Fox nor Black Elk have mothers to prepare buffalo hides for the tipi, her brothers have done it for her. It is a rare and extraordinary thing among the tribe, and a great act of love and devotion.


	20. An Unknown Fear

After the Battle of Ice, as the people now called the Pawnee attack on the Lakota village, Sansa was given many names to reflect her bravery: Long Rifle. Pawnee Fighter. Grabs the Knife. Wolf Woman. Kissed by Fire. Red Wolf. Winter’s Gift. Beloved of Three Hounds. Fierce Warrior Woman.

The names gave her pride and a sense of belonging. The people began using them interchangeably, and each time Sansa heard them, she felt honored and humbled to be reminded of her role in the fight.

However, in her heart, her favorite endearment was still the name Sandor had given her: _Mahansani_.

Since his return, he awakened her every morning with compliments and affection, and Sansa loved it. Never before had she felt so valued, so treasured. It amazed her that while her husband was the fiercest warrior in the Lakota nation, Sandor also never shied away from demonstrating his love and affection for her at every opportunity.

He helped her dress in the morning, offered her the best choices of food,  made jewelry for her and generally went to great lengths to provide her with things to make her comfortable during their winter rest. Several times he left the village with rolled buffalo hides and returned with items from the white world for her, such as a mirror, washbasin and pitcher.

Upon his arrival with these gifts, the reactions of the people told Sansa that Sandor’s behavior was uncommon amongst the Lakota. His actions were often met with giggles, open stares, and the occasional disapproving gaze. None of that seemed to bother him, let alone deter his demonstrative displays of affection.

She watched Sandor run his long fingers through its length, fascinated, as the firelight danced among the auburn strands.

“Your hair is made of a thousand sunsets, my other skin.” Sandor pulled her into a kiss. His captivation with her hair both amused and flattered her.

“You favor my hair, don’t you?” She smiled up at him.

“It is very beautiful,” he eagerly sat up, his eyes gleaming as he regarded her. “There is no one among the people adorned by Wakan Tanka like my Red Wolf.”

Blushing, Sansa sat up with him, watching him twirl the strands between his long fingers. “If it is beautiful, it is because you have given me items to make it so.”

“Of course I did." Sandor replied. "It was the first thing I noticed about you, Kissed by Fire. Your hair stood out like autumn leaves among the alders. But then, everything about you pleases me, wife. Your snowy skin,” his hands smoothed down her shoulders and arms, “your twilight eyes, your starry smile. The curves of your body like the river. All of you.” Sniffing, Sandor lowered his gaze and looked as though he had said too much.

Her face flushed hot with embarrassment. Sansa bit her lip and smiled up at him shyly. “Thank you.”

Without a word, Sandor leaned over to their grooming baskets and produced her prized possession, a porcupine comb. He had fashioned it especially for her curly hair so unlike his own, which hung lank even when he arose in the morning.

The combs he first tried to use painfully tangled in her hair. Concerned, Sandor asked his father about it and was told his mother also had needed a porcupine comb. Sandor took as much care with creating it as he did in making his weapons. It had taken him one day to track the animal and two days to carefully extract each quill. Members of the tribe eagerly watched his progress and complimented his skill. Sansa was deeply honored he put so much effort into making her something as commonplace a comb.

After Sandor finished the grooming tool, he fashioned several hair ornaments from the rest of the quills. He also distilled bear fat with lavender for her hair to protect it against the dry mountain air. Next he made red fox fur covers for her braids to keep her neck warm. The gifts made Sansa the envy of the women in camp.

“It is like a red shawl.” He nuzzled into the nape of her neck as he moved behind her. The feel of his warm breath on her skin sent a pleasurable shiver through her. “Let me brush it.”

During the winter rest, Sandor had spent hours combing her hair and Sansa relished his attentions.

“Shall I dress before you tend me?” Heat flushed her cheeks at her daring, for Sansa already knew Sandor’s answer to her question.

“No,” he whispered hotly into her ear and brushed her long locks over her shoulders, allowing her tresses to spill down her back and over her breasts. “I want you just as you are: naked and beautiful.”

“As you wish, my beloved."

Never had Sansa spent so much time undressed, but she loved that too. Heavy snowstorms blanketed the camp nearly every day, making leaving the warmth of the furs and Sandor’s body a most undesirable prospect. They had spent most of their time resting, loving, bathing and grooming one another during the moon after the wedding. Giving free reign to her passions was very liberating to the young woman, especially after the structured nature of her upbringing.

Sighing, she relaxed at the feel of his hands working gently through her hair.

“You slept very soundly,” Sandor kissed her shoulders. “Tell me your dreams, wife.”

Since his return, Sandor seemed increasingly eager to inquire about her dreams each morning. His questions came with a certain sense of foreboding, though he never spoke the nature of his concern.

“I dreamt of our child,” Sansa blushingly admitted. The dream had felt so real that when she had awakened, the young woman had felt a momentary sense of disappointment to find that it had not been a reality. “A tall, strong son. He is as big and muscular as you are, husband. He has your black hair and my blue eyes. His skin is the color of black honey.” She sighed happily. “He is beautiful.”

Sandor’s eyes twinkled interestedly. “And what sort of man is he, wife?”

“A brave, fierce warrior just like you. A good hunter and an expert in making weapons. He is smart and daring, and good to his people. He loves the children and old people of the village and cares for their needs.”

“I am glad to hear it.” Sandor smiled broadly, the scarred side of his face twisting as he did so. “We will be most blessed with such a son. Will he join us soon?”

“Yes, very soon, but you must work hard to make it so.” Giggling, Sansa grazed her fingernails over the hardened planes of his abdomen, drawing a sharp shiver in the man. In truth, Sansa was fairly certain that the child of whom she dreamed had already been conceived; she had not had her moon blood since his return and they had spent nearly all of their time making love. Also, for the past few weeks she had less inclination to get out of bed and tired quicker than usual.

Sansa watched Sandor’s eyes crinkle in the corners as he grinned at her. Seeing him smile openly was a rare thing treasured by Sansa. Reaching up to his face, she smoothed the lines around his mouth.

He drew her onto his lap and kissed her soundly. “With pleasure, wife. I will do all I can to make it so.”

“But first we eat,” Sansa giggled again. “My stomach is saying I am hungry.”

“Agreed. Do you know it has been a moon’s turn and a half since Running Fox’s wedding and still they have not left the tipi?” Sandor commented as he finished with her hair. “Black Elk is a busy beaver, that one.”

She sensed Sandor had questions for his sister about her husband’s treatment of her; judging by the shouts of pleasure coming from their tipi, Sansa was convinced Running Fox was most pleased with her mate.

“Why should they leave the tipi, Sandor?” Sansa kissed his hands lightly before holding them against her breasts. “They are enjoying themselves. And more importantly, why should we? It is still snowing.”

With that Sansa wiggled her bottom suggestively in his lap. Sandor hardened beneath her and let out a low groan. Clearing his throat, Sandor whispered: “You are right. It is not my place to inquire unless she appears unhappy.” He smiled at her and caressed her cheek. “We are newly married as well. We have done nothing but satisfy our desires for an entire moon, wife.”

“That is true.”  Blushing deeply, Sansa struggled to suppress the mirth welling up in her throat. “Are you complaining?”

“Don’t be foolish, Red Wolf,” Sandor laughed outright, shaking his head in mock disbelief as he did so. “Keeping you in the furs is my favorite activity. But now we eat.”

After wrapping Sansa in a fox fur robe and placing her furred moccasins on her feet, Sandor then slipped on his breechcloth and leggings and threw a buffalo robe over his shoulders.

“There is no need for you to dress.” He grinned at her lasciviously. “I will bring in the snow for bathing while you ready our meal,” Sandor smiled at her before stepping outside carrying their largest basket in his hands.

Soon she heard him cursing the cold, the sound sending Sansa into peals of laughter.

“You do not sound like you are working.” Sandor called back inside, the teasing lilt in his voice evident.

“I am, I am,” Sansa laughed and stoked the fire. She then put the pumpkin slices and potatoes on to roast and boiled a pot of quail eggs.

Glancing outside, she saw Lady snuffling along the ground as Sandor uncovered it. The animal dug fiercely under the snow and gently lifted out a freshly killed rabbit and set it at Sandor’s feet. He paused and scratched her ears before taking it from her and continuing his work.

“She earned her meal, wife,” Sandor grinned and held up the prize. “We will eat well tonight.”

Upon spotting Sansa, Lady whined and waited for her buffalo bone. Sansa chose the largest rib bone and tossed it into the snow in front of the enormous wolf.

“Sandor, this may seem like a foolish question,” Sansa nervously glanced around at the ever increasing snowfall accumulating outside their tipi, “but can we be buried by the snow here?”

“There are no foolish questions, wife,” Sandor turned to look at her. “Only the fool thinks they know everything. You are wise and I am pleased to answer you.”

“It’s just that I have never seen so much snow in my life.”

“Did it not snow in your home lands?”

“Yes, but not as deep as this is,” Sansa gestured to the great piles of soft powder that stood up to her shoulders. “And not for so many days at a time.”

“Our ancestors led us here many moons ago, Little Bird,” Sandor waved his arm in a wide circle. “They know what is best for us. There is shelter here, a windbreak, plenty of water. We will not be buried. But there will be much more snow during Cannápopa Wi.”

Letting out a relieved sigh, Sansa nodded. “You said: _Moon When Trees Crack From The Cold."_

"Yes."

"Is that the name of the month?” She clarified in English.

“Yes,” Sandor unrolled a fresh deer hide in the center of the tipi and took out his paints. “The snows weigh heavily on the tree branches and they break, making a loud noise. It is hard to sleep during such time and so we visit and tell stories then. After our meal I will paint the moon calendar for you.”

“I would like that.” She smiled at him and then kissed his cheek.

“Sansa,” he held her face in his hands. “I will take you to the land of your people. Say the word and I will make it so.”

“No, Sandor, it is too far away. It took us several months to cross the Great Gray Ocean from England.”

“That does not matter,” Sandor ran his thumbs over her cheeks. “It is your place, the place of your people. We will sell our belongings. Say the word and we will go to this England.”

Pausing, Sansa considered his offer. The howling of wolves filled the camp, interrupting them. Sandor and Sansa opened the flap and glanced outside in time to see Lady race off toward the pass above them, where several of her pack then joined her.

A sharp chill passed through Sansa, her sudden fear eliciting a deep shudder through her body. She sat down, wrapped her arms around her knees and hugged herself.

“Wife, are you alright?” Sandor took her into his arms and ran his hands down her back soothingly.

“I feel afraid all of sudden.” She shivered once more.

“What is it?” Tilting his head, Sandor frowned. “The wolves will not harm you.”

“No, it isn’t the wolves that frightened me; it’s something else.” Sansa buried her face into his chest.

“What is it? Tell me and I will kill whatever it is that frightens you.” Sandor’s voice took on a desperate tone.

“I’m sorry. I do not mean to be evasive but it is hard to explain.”

Lady’s snarls grew ever fiercer, the sound drawing Sandor, Sansa, Bronn and Black Elk out of their tipis.

As the growling continued, more people came out and stared wonderingly in her direction.

“Your wife’s sister is very angry, Three Hounds.” Black Elk called out as he shrugged on his robe. “Let us go see why.”

Nodding his assent, Sandor returned inside, hurriedly dressed and took up his war lance, bow and arrow.

Sansa eagerly followed him.

“Stay here in camp, wife,” he pressed his forehead against her own. “Promise me.”

She nodded.

“You will be safe. Bronn,” Sandor waved to his brother. “Stay with Sansa, brother. Guard her for me.”

“I will, brother.” Bronn promised as he anxiously led Sansa toward his tipi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taking their cues from the animals, for the Lakota, wintertime was a time for visiting, storytelling, resting and crafting. The Lakota would use this down time to make gifts to trade in the summer when the tribal bands joined together on the plains. Occasionally they would raid to strengthen their supplies.
> 
> Sandor's interest in his wife's appearance and well being, as well as providing grooming supplies was an important part of being a good Lakota husband. It was a sign that he loved and appreciated her. However, his open adoration, jewelry making and gift giving was rare. Most would attribute it to his "white" side and disapprove but none would dare challenge him over it, as doing so would be grounds for a fight to the death. My great uncle's father behaved in such a way toward his German wife, much to the amusement of the tribe.
> 
> Sex was nothing to be ashamed of and the Lakota did not hide their pleasure. Sounds of lovemaking were considered honorable and a celebration of love, and made the rest of the tribe happy for the couple. Since more sex meant more opportunities for pregnancy and thus the expansion of the tribe, people would call out encouragement for a baby lol. A woman’s sounds of pleasure earned her husband the respect of the tribe. No one would disturb them nor would they make vulgar comments about it.


	21. Hunters of Animals and Men

Warning: there are a few mentions of gore and the common ways Lakota made war. Additionally, Sandor and the white men make racially and religiously offensive comments. I have  put an asterisk next to the paragraphs so you can avoid it and still enjoy the fic.

* * *

 More wolves added their voices to the already steadily climbing chorus as Sandor made his final preparations.

Uneasily he glanced toward the pass above them. _What is waiting to meet us up there?_  Drawing a deep breath, Sandor tightened his war lance against his chest.

Gun In The Water leapt onto his horse. “I will go too.”

Sandor nodded at the man.

“My son, one man cannot tell another what to do but I am your father and your chief; you will hear my words and obey. Take your brother with you,” Standing Bear commanded just as Sandor was about to mount his horse. “I will guard your wife.”

Immediately Sandor assented, holding the reins of the ghost bridle lankly as he stared at his wife.

"You honor me, Father."

Sansa was blinking back tears as she looked up at him, pleading for him to agree with her eyes as she patted his horse’s flank.

*Han nickered softly at her, tossing his head in response, the animal eager to go.

A sinking feeling welled in his stomach.

The chief turned to Sansa. “Come daughter. I will keep you safe.”

“Yes, Father,” he watched Sansa bow meekly and move to his father’s side. “I am honored to come under your protection, but please, permit me to say goodbye to my husband.”

Stiffly Standing Bear agreed, waving his hand at her. “Go then.”

Much to Sandor’s surprise, Sansa turned and ran back toward him, leapt into his arms and kissed him fully on the mouth in front of the tribe.

A sharp pang of lust coursed through him, and for a moment, Sandor lost himself in her.  His desire for Sansa had been at a fever pitch ever since he returned to the tribe, and he had given in to his lust so often that Sandor was beginning to feel guilty for his excess.

But his wife seemed to share his passions but none of his hesitancy, and so he had given free rein to satisfying them both.

The women around them giggled and murmured softly to themselves.

The corner of Standing Bear’s mouth twitched slightly; Sandor recalled that Sansa’s farewell was very similar to the way his own mother behaved, the realization awakening pangs of heartache in the man.

Clearing his throat, he gently set her back on her feet, a smile playing on his mouth as he did so.

His father walked toward her.

“Come home to me, my other skin.” Sansa called to him as Standing Bear escorted her to his tipi.

His wives hugged her close and smoothed her hair, comforting her.

“Healing Needle, you come too,” Standing Bear barked at Margaery.

Confused, Margaery glanced between Sandor and Bronn before she moved into the tipi.

After climbing on his horse, Sandor’s eyes followed Sansa until she disappeared behind the flap.

Her people were protecting her, and Sandor was determined to eliminate the threat once and for all.

* * *

Wolf tracks divoted a huge swath of the snowy landscape, leaving a wide path of tracks for them to follow.

Lady burst through the bushes, startling the men. She danced around Sandor while alternating yipping and howling at him. Many voices answered her calls in the distance.

“This is a huge pack, wolf sister,” Sandor scratched her ears and then knelt to examine the deep paw prints. “Must be forty strong and well fed, too. You have done well in bringing them to us. Who is threatening Red Wolf? Show me.”

Suddenly she raised her huge head, sniffed the air and then darted off.

“There,” Black Elk pointed in the wolf’s direction toward a group of four well-dressed white men on horseback slowly traversing the mouth of the rocking path into the Black Hills.

The whites were travelling slow, led by a mountain man with a pack mule loaded down with buffalo meat.

They watched disdainfully as a blacknowledge haired woman awkwardly tried to navigate her inexperienced mount up the path, the animal stoutly refusing to follow the others.

She kicked it in the flanks and beat it with a whip several times but to no avail. Crouching in the tall snow, Lady poised herself to attack.

“Why do whites beat their animals for their own failures?” Bronn hissed, shaking his head. “Even their women do it.”

Sandor had often wondered the same thing. Whites didn’t seem to understand that the animals knew what they did not; neither were they willing to be taught by them.

It was strange to Sandor and Bronn alike, for their father had taught them to watch their horses’ behavior for clues about the weather and the vicinity of animals and invaders alike.

“It is disgraceful, brother, and it speaks to their own ignorance.” He pointed toward Lady. “The white woman’s horse smells the wolves and perhaps us as well. Her horse was trying to save the group, and the fools didn’t even recognize it, didn’t even consider the animal had a very good reason for its disobedience.”

“We should take that horse for ourselves,” Bronn added angrily. “It is a fine animal who only wants an understanding rider. She is beautiful as well. I could train her for Healing Needle.”

“A fine gift.” Black Elk agreed.

Gun-In-The-Water shook his head. “They are probably lost. We usually do not see anyone here in winter.”

“They are not lost.” Sandor answered gravely.

He had seen such men before. Bounty hunters, his mother had called them, men who were paid to find whites among the tribal peoples and return them to their families. It was a despicable profession both in the eyes of the people and the whites alike.

Sandor’s father had never let one such man escape him and neither had he; but something in their demeanor raised his curiosity.

This particular group seemed very well off, judging by the fine workmanship of their saddles and weapons. But who sent them?

The calling of wolves surrounded them. His mouth stretched taut at the site of the group moving ever closer toward the trail leading to his wife.

“Your wife’s family led us to them for a reason. They mean her harm, of that I am certain.”

Black Elk nervously watched Sandor grit his teeth in rage. The rest of the group remained silent, waiting for Sandor’s orders.

Squinting, Sandor recognized the familiar, hated white and black clothing of a white holy man.

“You are right. But why is that couple with them?”

“What do you mean?”

“I have not seen a woman travelling with such men before.”

“Maybe she is their bed slave.” Gun In The Water suggested.

“No, she is what my mother would call a ‘lady’,” Bronn shook his head. “You can tell by how awkwardly she rides. That means she is a respectable woman, a wife and mother.”

“What does her bad riding have to do with being respectable?”

“Whites don’t think honorable women ride straddling a horse,” Bronn explained. “They are oddly preoccupied with keeping their legs together, Mother told me. Remember how Red Wolf was riding sideways?”

Gun In The Water nodded understandingly.

“We thought it odd but did not know the reason she rode in such a manner.”

“I thought she just didn’t know how.” Black Elk added.

“No, she was taught that way so she would be viewed as honorable by her people.”

“She does not do so anymore,” Sandor growled low. “I would not allow her to engage in such dangerous behavior.”

“It is a miracle they do not break their necks.” Black Elk sniffed derisively. “Their men are very foolish if they would risk their women falling and breaking a bone rather than allow them to ride astride a horse. Whites are so hard to understand.”

“Very true.” Bronn concurred.

“I believe you are right about them, brother,” Sandor distractedly gestured toward them after watching the couple for several minutes. “That one teaches the black book of the whites. He is their holy man. He is wearing the necklace of the Christ god. She must be his wife, for they always come as a couple to the plains.”

“The ones who scare Little Bird about the hot place, brother? The ones who would not accept her back among them?”

Bronn had taken to calling Sansa ‘Little Bird’ as a term of brotherly affection, which Sandor appreciated; now however, the sound of the pet name brought a fresh wave of anger to him.

“Yes.” Sandor spat out.

The white collared man of the black book turned and spoke to the woman. Briefly Sandor wondered why the white holy man hadn’t provided her with a more trustworthy mount if she was truly his wife.

“Let me put some arrows in him.” Bronn interrupted his thoughts by turning his horse to face his brother.

“He might have medicine. I have heard other tribes say the black book gives them power.” Gun In The Water interjected. “We should watch him for a bit.”

“If he has medicine then the arrows will not kill him,” Bronn reasoned. “If he does not, then he will die.”

“Go then,” Sandor decided. “Shoot the holy man with arrows, brother.  We will finish the rest of the men and take their scalps. Leave the woman alive.”

* * *

Three of the men were mortally wounded before they even realized Sandor and his men were bearing down on them.

He was glad they were slow in dying, for he had many questions. The mountain man who served as their guide made a brief fight, which abruptly ended with the expertly thrown war lance of Black Elk.

The white men's first words to them confirmed that Sandor had been right about the identity of the men.

*“You red sons of bitches overtook us fast.” The man laughed ruefully. “Twenty years of bounty hunting and we get taken by a bunch of savages. Well, fuck me sideways. I guess we had it coming.”

Sandor and Bronn exchanged glances.

“We are looking for an English girl with red hair.” The man with an expensive rifle said in English to no one in particular.

Sandor figured he spoke purely out of nervous fear and decided he would pretend to ignore him. He would let him think he could not understand him in hopes the man would speak freely.

“Some rich hoity toity blonde dandy back east paid us to find her and bring proof that she was either dead or captive, one.”

Fury swept over Sandor until his heartbeat thundered in his ears. He gripped his war lance so tightly that his knuckles grew white.

Bronn and Black Elk fearfully backed away from him.

Behind them, Gun In The Water wrestled the feisty woman off of her horse all the while she screamed at the top of her voice.

The bounty hunter looked out around Sandor fearfully. “What you gonna do with her?”

“What is he saying?” Black Elk asked.

“He says they are looking for an English girl with red hair. A yellow haired rich man paid them to prove she was killed or else taken captive by us. He wants to know what we will do with their woman.”

“A man sent them after an English woman with red hair? He speaks of Red Wolf. You should kill him, Three Hounds.”

“I will, but I want to hear if he will say more.” Sandor sniffed and glared at the men.

Gun In The Water looked over the frightened woman.

“She is pretty,” the warrior commented. “I like her pale skin and black hair. I want to take her.”

The white men fidgeted, becoming obviously nervous as they sat listening to them speaking in Lakota. One tried in vain to reach a gun sticking out of his boot.

*Red Wolf says whites imagine the tortures we will put them through and will seek a way to kill themselves if they can,” Sandor rubbed his chin. “They are the worst cowards. These men are imagining such things. Just look at their fear.”

Gun In The Water spat in disgust. “What of the woman? Can I have her?”

*"Take her,” Sandor’s eyes fell to the woman shrieking out her prayers to her god while they spoke. “But do not outrage her. Leave it to Father to decide what should be done with her.”

“Yes, Three Hounds.”

He then knelt and began binding her hands and feet.

The woman landed a sharp kick to his chest, causing the warrior to stumble backwards.

Sandor, Bronn and Black Elk laughed.

“His friends think she's funny,” the one white man said. “Maybe they’ll take us to the English girl.”

“Not likely that I would bring you back to my woman,” Sandor answered in Lakota and looked over toward his brother. “You will die right where you sit after I am through listening to your words.”

After rubbing his ribs, Gun In The Water resumed tying her to his horse.

"Do not hit her." Sandor ordered sharply.

"I won't hit her," Gun In The Water grinned. "She is spirited like a young horse when first let out to graze. I like it."

Tersely Sandor sat down beside the white men.

Bronn watched Sandor’s behavior and soon caught on to the pretense.

“We have money if that’s what you’re after-“ The man whimpered. “We was well paid to find the English gal.”

Sandor shook his head and looked at Bronn.

“My brother say your woman come with us.” Bronn knelt before him. “Is she your squaw?”

Sandor swallowed hard at the loathsome word.

All three white men exchanged surprised looks and then laughed.

“Don’t you boys say nothin’!” The woman shouted at them while wriggling against her captor.

“She ain’t my woman, no.” The older man snorted loudly. “She's a repentant pianer’ playin’ whore from Ogallala that the preacher saved from hell. They was just travellin’ with us to get through the country.”

“I ain’t a whore no more!” She yelled out and then began to cry. “I left all that behind me.”

His body riddled with arrows, the holy man blankly stared into Sandor’s face.

“May God have mercy on your soul.”

With great difficulty, Sandor ignored the man.

“So she is a bed slave, not his wife.” He commented in Lakota with stilling the furious expression threatening his face. “She has suffered a great deal, I am sure. That is why she screams.”

Gun In The Water looked her over again.

“I do not care. Whites are often cruel to their women. I could be good to her.”

“He want her. We take her.” Bronn feigned in imitation of the way the buffalo hunters had mocked them.

“He brought her with us so she could start a new life.” The other badly wounded man shrugged.

He was dying slowly but Sandor was in no mood to show mercy toward the men who would have stolen Sansa from him.

“Won’t no one think her respectable anyhow. Do with her whatever you like but let us go on our way.”

Sandor waved Gun In The Water to take her back to camp. Her screams soon faded into the canyon.

Without a word, Sandor then moved behind the white bounty hunters, shouted out his war cry, and then slit their throats.

*Bronn moved in afterward to take their scalps while Sandor watched the blood drain into the snow.

The wolves howled out their chorus above them.

His brother looked at him questioningly.

“For Little Bird, Sandor,” Bronn quietly explained in Lakota.

Sandor nodded.

“She can see and know we protected her.” Bronn went on. “I will leave the mountain man to the wolves. Who is the man who sent them?”

“The blonde man who sent them was promised to be her husband but she never loved him.”

Sandor did not know why he was telling Bronn this but it felt good to let it out.

“His name was Joffrey. She did not want him. Her parents made her be with him.”

*Bronn shook his head in disgust. “I am glad she has found happiness with you, brother,” he said as he scalped the first man. “She is a good woman who deserves better.”

“Lord, forgive them for they know not what they do.” The holy man rasped out, interrupting them.

*“I know exactly what I am doing,” Sandor answered in English while Bronn took the second man’s scalp.

Kneeling, he stared hard into the frightened man’s eyes.

“Hear my words: I am protecting my people. I am showing your god that I do not fear his burning place or the words in your black book.”

*“Red godless devils-“

“You hate us because our skin is dark,” Sandor growled out, shaking in rage as he did so. “You hate your own when they marry us. You steal our people from us and then tell them they will burn forever but it is a lie. Wakan Tanka is stronger than your Christ god.”

* Gasping, the man struggled to reply. Bloody bubbles spilled out of his lips as he tried to speak and after taking a long breath, the man died.

“I am glad his death was slow,” Sandor spat on his lifeless body. "Stories of the burning place have frightened my wife ever since she was a little girl.”

“How can they burden their children with such things, even if they believe they are true?”

“I do not know,” Sandor answered. “I will ask Sansa.”

Lady came in amongst them and sniffed each body carefully before raising her voice in wolf song.

"You are welcome, Sister," Sandor scratched under her chin. "Now you feast on your sister's enemies."

Black Elk dumped out the white men’s packs and began rifling through them.

“More tracks for you and Red Wolf to read, Three Hounds.”

He tossed two books at Sandor’s feet.

Sandor sneered at the black book with the cross on the cover and tossed it to the side. Bronn handed him another.

“Look at this, brother.”

“Le Morte De Art-hur,” Sandor sounded out the words with great difficulty in English. “This is not English.” Somewhere in the back of his mind, the tracks were familiar to him. “It is French, I think.”

Puzzled, Bronn frowned. “What is French?”

“Mother spoke it,” Sandor explained. “She could read its tracks, too. She went to a place to learn as a girl but I forgot what she called it. Father brought her a book full of tracks made like this and she would read them.”

“But what is it, exactly?”

“It is a language of a people who are neighbors to England, like the Cheyenne are to us.”

Sandor opened the book and paged through its contents.

“Do they make war on the English?”

“Sometimes.” Sandor answered. “The rest of the tracks are English inside.”

“What does it mean, that whites would name a book in one language and yet fill the inside with tracks of a different language?” Bronn chewed his lip thoughtfully. “It is strong medicine, I think.”

“I do not know,” Sandor smoothed his hand over an illustration of a man wearing a great metal suit. “But I will take this to Red Wolf. She will tell us what it means.”

With that they packed up the white’s belongings, mounted their horses and headed home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Han is the Lakota spirit of darkness, as close as a counterpart to the Stranger as I could get in the traditional religion.  
> It was a common tradition for the women of the tribe to comfort the wife of the warrior leading the party since many men never made it back.  
> Even though Sandor is a grown man with a wife of his own, Lakota culture dictated that he would naturally defer to his father.  
> It is interesting to note that indigenous people often come up with their own reasons for why white people behaved in certain ways much in the same way the whites did to them. The very idea of risking the life and safety of your wife or woman was absurdly irresponsible to them.


	22. Family Matters

* * *

**A/N:** There are racist slurs in this chapter. I have placed an asterisk next to them so those who wish to avoid them can do so and still enjoy the rest of the fic.

* * *

Inside Standing Bear’s tipi, Margaery sat in the middle of the floor, carefully sorting the dried herbs in the medicine basket. The chief and his wives kept a respectful distance, sitting quietly on their mats as they watched. Running Fox held Sansa’s hand.

Singing softly, Margaery offered prayers as she worked. She laid out a beautiful white buckskin medicine bag adorned with red fox fur and beading depicting the wolf and the bear. Carefully Margery then placed  pine cones, wolf fur, dried prairie grass, grizzly teeth and claws, a lock of horse hair from Han, a braid of Sandor’s hair, smooth river rocks from the tributary outside, tobacco, four of Sandor’s arrowheads, and a piece of the dress Sansa wore the day Sandor rescued her into the bag. After lighting sage, Margaery smudged it.

She looked beautiful, Sansa thought, in her new white buckskin gown and leggings. Heavily beaded patterns of yellow flowers decorated the sleeves of the garment, and the shoulders of the leather were dyed green. Bronn had given her several pure white eagle feathers for her hair, a gift fit for a medicine woman. Her figure had rounded out as she neared her second moon of pregnancy and yet she moved gracefully. Sansa wanted to compliment her friend but she did not want to disturb the ceremony.

“Tiyospaye, I gift this medicine bag to you. Wear it always, sister,” She held out the medicine bag with a smile. “You are the Red Wolf of our people, and the Little Bird of Three Hounds. It will keep you safe.”

Next Running Fox quietly spoke. “It is my honor to present you with this, Red Wolf, in your husband’s stead. May it keep you safe and happy all the days of your life.” With that she took the medicine bag from Margaery and laid it gently over Sansa’s head, smoothing it over her neck and laying it flat against her breast.

Then Margaery lit the end of a bundle of sage and gently allowed the smoldering wick pass over Sansa and the bag. Since undergoing the spiritual training of White Buffalo, her friend had developed a more peaceful demeanor in the tribe, one that grew still more dignified as her body swelled with child. The naughtiness of the old Margaery was still there, Sansa was pleased to see, but tempered.

“Margaery, it is very beautiful. Thank you,” Sansa held the bundle to her chest. To be part of Margaery’s spiritual training was an honor, and the gift made more special because of their friendship.

“Would you explain the meanings of each item to me?”

“The wolf fur is the protection of your spirit animal and will invoke the wolf spirit wherever you go. The arrowheads, Sandor’s hair, grizzly claws and teeth bring the protection and ferocity of your husband with you. Han’s mane reassures you that Sandor’s animal will fight to protect you to the death, as he would. The river rocks signify that your home among the people is secure, unmovable, and unchangeable against the ever changing current of life. The piece of your gown honors the brave woman you were; the tobacco, grass and pine cones honors the wise Lakota woman you have become.”

Sansa did not realize she had begun crying until her tears blurred her vision. Smiling, Margaery put her arms around her.

“Don’t be afraid, Sansa. The men will return soon. Sandor is safe, I am certain of it.”

“I…I just know something awful has happened. I feel it in my stomach,” Sansa rubbed her belly, trying to still the nervous fluttering within.

Frowning, Margaery put dried mint and chamomile leaves into a cup of hot water, stirred the contents and handed it to her. “Drink this, it will help settle your nerves and your stomach.”

The warm liquid soothed her.  Running Fox sat behind her and rubbed her shoulders. After saying a prayer over Sansa, Margery opened her eyes.

“Tell me what you fear, Sansa.” She took Sansa’s hand and held it to her breast. “Free your mind of it. It is too much for you to bear on your own. Let me take it on for you.”

“I fear Sandor will die trying to protect me,” Sansa whispered as Margaery laid her hands on her and closed her eyes. “I fear the white men will find me and take me away from him the same way they did his mother. I fear they will hurt the people.”

After several moments, Margaery opened her eyes. “It is what he fears as well. But I do not see it coming to that.”

Sansa exhaled deeply.

“Do you really think Joffrey will send someone after you, Sansa?” Margaery raised her brow doubtfully.

“I don’t know,” she shivered involuntarily.

 _Mother said you won't go west. You’re to stay here and we’re still to be married so you will obey._ Sansa could still feel the cruel pinch of his hand on her face, could still see his fat wormy mouth undulating as he spoke.

Bile rose in Sansa’s throat, and Margaery shivered with her.

“He doesn’t like losing his things.”

“You are right about that,” Margaery allowed. “But honey, well, I wouldn’t be so sure that he still views you as his possession. I don’t know how to say this any other way, but the boy was cheating on your before we left.” She paused to gauge Sansa’s reaction.

Sansa wasn’t surprised. In Boston, she and Arya had snuck out after midnight and went into town to their father’s gentlemen’s club, hoping to get a peek at what was going on inside. The piano music was loud and the men were raucous. Mouth agape, Arya had pointed through the beveled windows and there Joffrey was at the bar with the woman with red hair sitting on his lap. His hands were all over her body. 

"Joffrey's cheating on you with a whore!"

"Arya! Language, please."

"Fine," Arya huffed, "Joffrey's cheating on you with a woman of ill repute. Better?"

Looking back, Sansa realized Arya had actually been angrier than she was by the discovery. Though inwardly she knew she should be upset, Sansa had not felt jealous or angry or anything; in fact, she was indifferent. She didn't even bother confronting him about it.

Briefly she wondered if her sister was still in Saskatchewan with her friend Gendry. Arya had not wanted to go west with them, instead preferring to run away with her friends to the gold mines in the Canadian territory. Sansa had not yet found an opportunity to write her and tell her about their parents.

Trembling, she nodded absently when Margaery clearned her throat.

“Forgive me, my mind was wandering.”

Margaery shook her head. “Don't be. Give in to it. Let your mind lead you.”

“I know Joffrey cheated on me, Margaery.”

Stunned, her friend’s eyes widened.

“I saw him with a red haired woman once.” She explained in Lakota. “Arya and I saw them through the glass at the gentlemen’s club. I think she was a sporting lady. A bed slave.”

Running Fox angrily shook her head. “He is useless and not worth your pain.”

Sansa smiled and patted her sister in law. “The pain was when I was with him, not in his unfaithfulness.”

“Did he strike you?” Running Fox asked, alarmed. “Father, please hear sister's words.”

In an instant Standing Bear moved beside her.

“Tell us, daughter: did the man hit you?” His eyes glittered in the same way Sansa had seen in Sandor when she told him about her nightmares.

“Yes,” she tearfully replied. “Well, not him. He had his men beat me. Some of the wounds you saw when you found me were from him, not the Pawnee. I was too ashamed to tell Sandor but I think White Buffalo must have known.”

Standing Bear’s face turned dark with fury. Angrily he began pacing the room.

“Did your father know of this?” 

“No. Joffrey told me his men would kill him if I told.” Sansa gasped out, her words dissolving into sobs.

His wives quickly took each of Sansa’s hands and tenderly kissed and stroked her.

“Oh my sweet sister,” Running Fox embraced her. “You must let it go. Three Hounds will kill him for you.”

“No, please!” Sansa cried out, “I don’t want my husband to seek out Joffrey! He is cowardly and not worth the trouble of so great a warrior as Three Hounds. Should Joffrey come here, I would be glad for him to kill him.”

“As you wish, daughter, so it will be done,” Standing Bear finally answered. He wrapped her in his buffalo robe. “But you must tell your husband this.”

“But it is in the past-“

Standing Bear raised his hand and so Sansa stopped speaking.

“That is the white way, not our way. Sandor needs to know this in order to properly approach you as your husband. You must not fear it will change his feelings for you. You will tell him, daughter. I know it is hard but it will bless your marriage to have this known to him.”

He was right, Sansa knew. “Yes, my chief. I will tell him when he returns,” Sansa promised. “I did not mean to hurt our marriage. I was too embarrassed to tell him. Thank you, Father.”

Wrath was written plainly on Standing Bear’s face, so like Sandor’s in that moment. Gently he raised her hand to his lips and kissed her. “I know, Little Bird. You must not shed another tear over it, nor let it make your heart bad. Wakan Tanka allowed you to reveal it under Healing Needle’s guidance and I am glad he did.”

“I just feel so ashamed.” Sansa hung her head.

Standing Bear tipped her chin up to him, his eyes softening as he did so. “Listen to your father and hear my words: the shame is not yours to bear, daughter. My anger is not yours, but his. The fault lies in that person whose name I will not speak in my home. He deserves to die and one day, Wankan Tanka will see that you get justice.”

She pressed her cheek into his hand and then kissed him tenderly.

The chief’s eyes softened more still. “Go on, Healing Needle. There is more you need to tell, I sense.”

“There were others he cheated with, too, Sansa, among the society people in Boston,” Margaery carefully went on. “I sincerely doubt he ever loved you, let alone would bother looking for you. You remember what he always said about women taken by the Indians.”

*“He would kill me if I returned to Boston, of that I have no doubt. He told me that I should put the barrel of a gun in my mouth if I ever was taken by Indians. He said no dignified woman would ever allow herself to lay with a “red man” as he called them.” Sansa shook her head.

Running Fox and Standing Bear’s wives collectively gasped.

Standing Bear leapt to his feet and began pacing once more.

“He said I was as good as dead if I was captured in his eyes.” Sansa went on, wiping her eyes as she spoke.

Margaery tisked sympathetically. “God, Sansa he really was a monster. You and I are most fortunate to be rid of him, I think.”

“You are safe with us, daughter. No one will ever try to hurt you again. If the whites come here, we will kill them all.”

“Thank you, Father. I feel safe under your protection.”

“Good,” he answered in English. “You two finish this talk in private.” He waved his wives and Running Fox to follow him outside.

“He only wanted your virginity intact for the dowry, Sansa.” Margaery spoke in English and rolled her eyes. “He would have used you every which way and then some, the beast.”

“He would have thrown me over regardless, sooner or later, if I did not leave him first.” Sansa shrugged. “I am so grateful to Sandor, so very grateful. Do you believe in soul mates, Margaery?”

“I think we can make the best of whoever we are with, for the most part,” Margaery said after thinking it over. “I am not sure if we are destined for one man.”

“I never did before, but I do now,” Sansa smiled as she absently twirled her hair around her finger.  “Sandor was meant for me and me for him.”

Raucous yelling echoed throughout the camp, drawing the women’s attention outside.

“This can’t be good.” Margaery commented.

Standing Bear held the flap open for Sansa and Margaery. “Daughters, come.”

“What is this?” The chief demanded of Gun In The Water, who was struggling with a white woman wrapped in a blanket on his horse.

Sansa was so stunned she stood with her mouth open until Margaery nudged her forward.

“Three Hounds gave her to me,” Gun In The Water announced. “I will take her for a wife. She was with the wasicu men that the wolves led us to way down in the valley at the foot of the river.”

“Wasicus were there?” Standing Bear raised his brow.

Swallowing hard, Sansa felt her throat tighten at his words. “Is Sandor safe?”

“Yes, Red Wolf.”

“Why did they come?” Standing Bear demanded.

“They were looking for Red Wolf.” Gun In The Water glanced anxiously at Sansa. “The man that had her before wants her back or else proof she is dead.”

“He was not her man. He was supposed to marry her.” Standing Bear growled. “What did Three Hounds do with them?”

 “Three Hounds and Black Water killed them. They will be along soon.”

“Good,” the chief nodded.

The woman on the horse shrieked swear words, interrupting the men.

“Was she married to one of the men?” Standing Bear eyed the dark haired woman warily. “She is very upset. Her language does not befit a respectable woman.”

“No, she was a bed slave.”

Standing Bear nodded understandingly.

“A white holy man of the white and black clothing was with her, as well as two others paid to find Red Wolf.”

“Let go of me, you animal!” The woman hollered loudly while beating her small fists against Gun In The Water’s chest. “Get your filthy hands off me!”

Gun In The Water calmly held fast to her.

“Can you understand her, daughters?” Standing Bear asked. “I cannot make out her white words when spoken so fast.”

“Yes,” Sansa answered and Margaery nodded in agreement.

“Tell me.”

Uneasily Sansa glanced at Margaery before quietly replying: “She is calling Gun In The Water an animal and telling him to let go of her. She does not want his dirty hands on her.”

“My hands are not dirty. I washed them after I fought.” Gun In The Water frowned. “And what is wrong with being an animal? Are we all not animals?”

“She means it as an insult. Let her go for now,” Standing Bear ordered. “She must be calmed down.”

At once the woman fell off the horse and into a sitting position in the snow. Sansa, Margaery and Running Fox moved forward to help her.

“Stay away from me, you godless women!” She screamed at them, digging her heels into the snow and scooting away from them.

“Please, let us help you.” It had been so long since Sansa spoke English that the words sounded strange in her ears. “We won’t hurt you. I am Red Wolf and this is Healing Needle. Our husbands-”

“They was your men who attacked us?!” The woman swung her fists wildly at Sansa. She braced herself for the blow, but Running Fox promptly stepped in front of Sansa and slapped the woman. Surprised, Sansa turned to look at the young woman and saw her sister in law’s eyes glinting blackly as she edged closer.

“You will not raise your hand to my sister, white woman.” Running Fox spoke her English words brokenly while removing her axe from her belt.  “I will cut your hand off if you strike her again.”

“Running Fox, let me try to calm her.” Margaery stepped forward. “What is your name and how did you come here?”

“I’m Mya Stone, not that it matters to you. I used to be a mule guide for gold miners. I found God and came here for a new life.” She eyed Margaery’s clothing. “What are you supposed to be?”

“I am learning to be a healer,” Margaery said calmly.

“You left Jesus?”

“I never worshipped much before I came here,” Margaery admitted. “I am a physician of sorts. We use herbs to cure many things. Now, come, sit.  Let me get you some tea.” She gestured for the young woman to enter the tipi.

* “I don’t want nothin’ from the likes of you!” Mya shouted. “And I ain’t sittin’ with women who fornicate with red men and worship false idols!”

“We are not ‘fornicating’ with anyone, Mya,” Sansa narrowed her eyes at the woman. She knew Mya was frightened but Sansa was not about to be insulted. “I know what people say about the whites who live among the Indians but it is not true. We are lawfully married to the chief’s sons. We can help you if you will let us.”

“Call it what you want but you was stolen, plain and simple!” Mya stuck out her chin and pointed at Sansa. “You was the one those bounty hunters was lookin’ for. You should have kilt yerself rather than lay with these godless heathens. You should have tried to escape, starved yerself, anything!”

“I love my husband,” Sansa bitterly replied, her eyes burning with tears. The young woman knew full well that Mya was merely putting to words what white society in general believed about captives. The sinking feeling in her stomach returned. 

“I chose him. I chose to live with the people. I am one of them, and I will never leave my husband.”

“Your godlessness got the preacher Johnson kilt! You’re nothing but a whore-“

Mya’s words were interrupted by Running Fox slapping her squarely in the mouth, harder than before.

“Silence! You will not scream at Three Hounds’ wife in such a way!” She shouted in Lakota. “She is the daughter of the chief, the wife of the son of the chief and you _will_ treat her with respect!”

Margaery quickly translated and then added: “You are offending the chief with your behavior. Night will fall soon and the temperature is dropping. You must calm yourself and come inside.”

“No I ain’t!” Mya yelled louder than before. “To hell with you!”

“Please let us help you.” Sansa and Margaery cautiously stepped forward.

Sandor, Bronn and Black Elk rode up then.

“You get away from me, the both of you!” Mya wildly turned toward Sandor. “You killers! Killers!”

Startled, Sandor frowned and climbed off his horse. “Wife, be careful,” he rasped quietly. “She is wild.”

“I will, Sandor.” Reaching out, Sansa carefully laid her hand on the woman’s shoulder. “Please let me help you. I was very afraid when I first came here too,  Mya, and-“

*Mya jerked away with a frown. “You ain’t white no more! Don’t touch me, red harlot!”

Stunned, Sansa stumbled backward into Sandor, who gently caught her and set her on her feet.

“Wife, are you hurt?”

Sansa shook her head. Sandor's eyes turned charcoal with anger but he did not interfere.

“Enough of this!” Running Fox raised her axe. “Bronn, grasp her for me. I told the woman I would cut off her hand for hitting Red Wolf before and she has pushed her yet again.”

Nodding, Bronn started to dismount but his brother shook his head.

“I will handle the white woman, sister.” Sandor turned to her. “Thank you for protecting my wife.”

Running Fox bowed meekly and stood beside Black Elk, who gently wrapped his arm around her waist.

Gun In The Water was growing more distressed by the moment. He knew full well that Sandor was within his rights to kill the woman for striking his wife, not once, but three times. Yet the woman did not seem to sense the danger and grew angrier still.

It was his fault for bringing her and up to him to make amends with Three Hounds. Grabbing Mya, he shook his head. “No.” It was the only white word he knew.

*“Let me go!” Mya strained in his arms to be closer to Sansa. “You call that murdering savage your husband?” She pointed at Sandor. “How can you lie with that ugly half breed willingly?”

Sandor’s face was unreadable but Sansa knew he understood everything the woman said. Rage flooded her, causing a hot rush of blood to her face.

How dare she speak in such away about the man she loved-the man who protected her, fed her, and clothed her?  The man who cared for her wounds, made her a home, who held her when she cried for her parents? Sandor loved her and had given her the child Sansa was certain was in her belly; the woman’s words were intolerable.

Furious, Sansa slapped the woman as hard as she could, her palm stinging and red.

“You can call me any name you want, but you will not insult my husband.”

Sandor moved beside her. “She is not worth your anger or your blow, wife.”

Running Fox stepped beside Sansa. “Sandor is right. Say the word, sister, and I will punish her for you.”

Standing Bear raised his hand, indicating he was about to speak.

“Enough of this, all of you. Woman, you will not stay here if you do not want.” He spoke in English and then turned to Gun In The Water. “Three Hounds gave her to you but I will not have her here upsetting Red Wolf and Healing Needle, nor will she insult my son in his own camp.”

“What will you have me do?” Gun In The Water asked quietly.

“Retie her binds,” Standing Bear ordered. “Take her to your tipi. If she does not calm down by morning, let her go into the woods and find her own way. We have done all we can for her. It is up to her what happens after this night.”

Crestfallen, Gun In The Water bowed and took hold of Mya.

“She will behave no better in the morning,” Sandor commented in Sansa’s ear. “I should have killed her too. I could have given her a clean death.”

“She will die in the snow, Sandor.” Sansa blurted out to Sandor as they watched Gun In The Water lead the still shrieking woman away. “She cannot make it in this weather alone.”

“She is not alone. She could stay here but her hatred of us will not allow it. It is her choice,” Standing Bear rested his hand on her shoulder. “You and Healing Needle chose life when you came to us. You chose to trust us, to accepted your place among us and both of you have thrived. But not all whites do. If this woman chooses death, we cannot stop her.” He pointed to a young woman standing quietly in the shadows. “Pretty Flower loves Gun In The Water. She would be a much better mate for him.”

A heavy sadness fell on Sansa then, for she knew she had just witnessed what could have happened to her and Margaery, had they chosen to behave differently.

Sandor watched her for a reply and so she forced herself to whisper: “Yes, she does love him. She told me and Margaery and asked for herbs to make him love her in return.”

“He does love her, but he loves the feistiness of white women, too.” Sandor rasped against her ear.

“I will tell her to let her true personality out for him. Come Sandor, let us go home.”

* * *

Sandor and Sansa passed the evening in silence, neither speaking of the white men or the woman. Sandor laid down beside her and stroked her skin, comforting her. After spending a sleepless night tossing and turning, Sansa rushed to Gun In The Water’s tipi at the break of dawn.

Pale and drawn, he was standing outside, smudging himself with sage while Margaery looked on.

“She did not want me,” the young man said solemnly. “She left in the night and I let her.”

Sadly Sansa wiped her eyes.

Sandor hurried toward her.

“Maybe you could go after her-“ Sansa could not bring herself to finish the sentence.

“No, that is not our way,” Sandor placed his arms around her. “I know this is hard for you to understand and that you feel for the woman but she must find her own way. If Wakan Tankan wills it, she will survive."

“Three Hounds is right,” Gun In The Water agreed. “Wankan Tanka did not want her here. She was not a gift to me. It was bad medicine, taking for myself the woman who travelled with the men who meant to steal you. Even your medicine of kindness and that of Healing Needle could not sway her. Forgive me, Red Wolf.”

Stepping forward, Sansa took his hand in her own. “I do not hold you responsible. And she was foolish not to want such a brave warrior.” She took the sage from him and smudged it over his body; quietly he submitted, closing his eyes as he did so. Afterward, he smiled wanly, bowed and went back inside.

* * *

A week later, Bronn and Sandor came across the woman’s body buried deep in the snow, frozen in the fetal position next to a large boulder. When they turned her over, the men saw she was still clutching the black book of the Christ god to her chest.

“What should we do with her?” Bronn asked.

“Leave her to the wolves and dogs,” Sandor sniffed. “Your brothers and mine. She will serve a purpose in death that she could not find in life.”

With that the two rode away, each man silently vowing to himself never to speak of the woman again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A medicine bundle is considered a very precious possession which represents a person's spiritual life, and may possess powers for protection and healing. As the owner grows older, more items may be added to it. Personal medicine bundles are usually buried with the owner, or passed on to a friend upon the owner's death. 
> 
> Lakota medicine is both a spiritual and physical healing art, and so Sansa admitting Joffrey abused her is an important part of solving her fears and calming her body in Lakota healing. It would be essential that she tell Sandor so that he would deal with her according to knowledge, as the saying in Lakota translates. Rather than being swept under the rug as it is among whites, the entire tribe would be told of her mistreatment and all would pray and sacrifice for her healing. She would also be provided with extra food, counselling, medicinal herbs and affection to help her heal emotionally.  
> A Lakota man who struck his wife, at the very least, would be expelled from the tribe but most did not survive long enough to have it happen. One of her family members-man or woman or child-would step forward to kill him to avenge her. If she had no family or if they were very elderly or very young, the fiercest warrior would offer himself to avenge her. So abusers didn’t live very long.
> 
> Joffrey’s abuse of her is considered the utmost act of cowardice and even though it was done in the past, it is also the ultimate insult to all of her family members. Standing Bear, his wives, Running Fox, Margaery, Bronn and Black Elk would all respond to this news as if they themselves had been struck by him. Sandor would be expected to kill him to restore peace to his wife and prove himself a worthy mate for Sansa. 
> 
> Lakota culture is also based on the number four, which the Lakota used symbolically to apply to such things as: the elements: earth, fire, air and water. The seasons: winter, spring, summer and fall. The directions: north, south, east and west.
> 
> Different families that were bound by blood or marriage ties united together to form a social unit called a tiyospaye, which translates to “member extended family.” For the Lakota, each person’s acts were often measured in terms of its impact on the entire tiyospaye, and people within the tiyospaye aligned and cooperated together for the good of all of its members. And even though several leaders headed each tiyospaye, there was still a sense of equality among all people.
> 
> Mya Stone’s canon characterization is all but nonexistent here but I wanted to include her in this chapter. Her response to the tribe is not meant to make her the villain or a condemnation of her; it is just a sad truth of the way many white women responded to capture due to the racist propaganda they were subjected to about the Indians from the time they were children. 
> 
> Gun In The Water would be distraught that Mya, whom he would have viewed as a gift from Wakan Tanka, would reject him. It would be proof that he did not have his blessing and that he had offended Sansa and Sandor.
> 
> Standing Bear’s response is actually kinder than what many Lakota chiefs would have pronounced but it is what my great uncle's father would do to white captives who did not want to conform. More often than not, other chiefs would have let the women of the tribe beat and torture such a woman to death for her insolence toward his son. 
> 
> Again, this is not a condemnation of Mya or a demonization of the Lakota, it is just the truth of the situation and an accurate retelling of what many women captives faced in real life. Most did not respond as favorably as Sansa and Margaery nor did they receive such a good outcome and Sansa recognizes this in this chapter.


	23. The Gifts of Winter

Sandor held open the flap for Sansa.  The day was sunny, though the air was bitterly cold. The last time the sun peeked through the clouds was the morning they discovered Gun In The Water’s woman had run away. A deep sinking roiling in his gut at the memory.

“Do not sit too long outside.” Sandor murmured as she passed by him.

“Are you telling me what to do, husband?” Sansa's tone was teasing but her blue eyes flashed angrily as she looked at him.

“I am,” Sandor affirmed, crossing his arms. “You are not used to such weather. You will fall ill.”

“I just wanted to offer prayers outside today,” Sansa rolled her eyes upward at him, much to his consternation. “It’s been so gloomy I thought sitting in the sunshine would be a pleasant change.”

He watched Sansa set her sitting mat in the circle he had made outside their tipi.

“That is true. But you need not make that expression at me when you answer, even if you are not pleased by my words.”

The clouds that blanketed the sky for the past two weeks mirrored the gloom that had settled on their relationship since that terrible day.

Neither he nor Sansa had brought up what had transpired, but it hung heavily over them, suffocating their normally pleasant companionship.

She had felt moody and restless ever since, prone to headaches and stomach discomfort.

“I am feeling irritable this morning, and my stomach is bad,” Sansa returned to his side and cupped his face. “Forgive my rudeness.”

Sansa did look rather pale, Sandor noted as he studied her face. "We will see White Buffalo."

"No, thank you," Sansa lightly padded her fingers in his bare skin. "It is nothing serious, just a bit of melancholy."

“I did not wish to sound as though I was telling you what to do.” Sandor leaned in and brushed her hair away from her eyes.

“I know,” she took his hand from her cheek and kissed his palm. “But it feels good to be outside and I am hoping it will lift my mood.”

After observing Sansa’s despondence, Sandor began to understand that she saw herself in the woman who called herself Mya, or at least, the woman she used to be. It was only natural for Sansa to grieve, for the sad truth of the matter was that if she and Healing Needle had reacted in a similar fashion, they would also have most certainly shared her fate.

It was difficult and yet an inescapable fact Sansa had to face. There was nothing Sandor could do to blunt it, nor did he want to do so. She was very young and experience often was a painful teacher. It was best to let her alone, his father had counseled, and Sandor agreed. But when he and Bronn came across the woman’s remains, Sandor felt it best not to tell her, and his brother agreed they would keep it to themselves.

Her reaction to Mya’s running away had been so powerful, so negative, that both men felt it best not to burden her further. Nothing could be done for the dead woman, and it would only serve to upset Sansa further.

Sandor would not have let her run off into Pawnee territory or into the snows in the dead of winter. He wanted to talk to her about it, to reassure her, but Sansa had turned her grief inward, isolating him.

Sandor did not know how to broach the subject, for the man was afraid what Sansa would say if he delved too deeply into her own feelings about being taken by him.

Overwhelmed by his thoughts, Sandor swallowed hard and sighed.

“Yes, it is good to be outside.” He weakly offered by way of explanation when he noticed her staring at him, a sad expression blighting her pretty face.  “Perhaps it will help us both.”

“What is wrong, my love?” She frowned slightly, searching his face. “Are you feeling well?”

Shrugging, he shook his head. “I am merely concerned for your health.”

To mask his unease, Sandor turned away from her and looked over the snowy peaks surrounding them. 

“There is still plenty of snow on the ground. Winter will be with us a while yet.”

Shivering, Sansa wrapped her rabbit fur robe closer to her body.

“Well, I guess that means more time inside. I best make the most out of this bit of sunshine.” 

Forlornly she glanced toward Gun In The Water’s tipi and then closed her eyes and held her medicine bag close to her heart.

Briefly Sandor wondered what she was praying for, and if she would tell him. Of course it was unthinkable and far too impolite to ask her; maybe she would offer to tell him if he approached her kindly.

“Will you give thanks?” Sandor asked when she opened her eyes.

“Yes, of course I will,” Sansa smiled at him. “Now hush, please. I needs say my prayers.”

Leaving her to her worship, Sandor followed Bronn as he led the horse he took from the woman through camp.

“What is she doing?” He whispered to Sandor as he stared at Sansa.

Sandor figured she was praying for the woman Mya but he did not say so.

“She is offering prayers.” He answered simply.

“To who?”

“I did not ask. It is none of my business.” Sandor rasped low.

It did not matter to him whether she prayed to Wakan Tanka or Jesus; if Sansa needed to pray, then Sandor would let her.

“That is true. It is good medicine, either way,” Bronn nodded approvingly. “Come walk with me. I will be training this fine horse for Healing Needle. She is mixing a treatment for the whip marks on the animal.”

“That is wise, for such a beautiful horse should not be marred for the rest of her life,” Sandor rubbed the velvety nose of the animal as he took in the welts covering her flank. “Has she named her yet?"

“Yes, she calls her Buttercup,” Bronn laughed and shook his head. “Like the flower.”

Sandor looked up to see Healing Needle carrying a large bucket of heated water toward them. Soothingly she spoke to the horse, and Buttercup tossed her head at her new mistress. Laughing, Margaery produced an apple and gave it to her.

“Has your wife grieved for the white woman who ran away?” Sandor asked his brother quietly as they walked away.

“Yes,” Bronn nodded. “I suppose it is natural. She is better today, though. Yesterday I took her to the hot springs. It is healing in body and heart. Maybe you should do likewise with Sansa.”

“Yes, I will take her today,” Sandor patted his brother on the shoulder. “Excuse me, but I will return to her now.”

"Go to your wife, brother."

 When Sandor moved beside Sansa's mat, she opened her eyes.

“Will you join me, husband?” Sansa blinked several times to focus and patted the space beside her.

The people working around them stared at him. It was unheard of in the tribe for a wife to ask her husband to join her in shared prayers, and her unconventional behavior shocked the onlookers so that Sandor could not fight the grin threatening his face. 

“No, wife, it is good medicine you are making to pray privately,” He waved his approval for her to proceed. “I will not disturb your worship.”

“You could never disturb me,” Sansa pouted and beckoned to him. “Come, love. We can worship together.”

Sandor shook his head, though he knelt down and kissed her lightly on the forehead.

“Maybe another day. I have other matters to think on. After you finish, we will go to the hot springs.”

Her face lit up at this. “I have never been to a hot springs. That would be very nice.”  Sansa answered in English.

“Nice?” Sandor questioned. “What does this word ‘nice’ mean? You use it in many ways.”

“Forgive me.” Sansa bit her lip. “English is far more complicated than Lakota. It is most often used to mean that it is something that the speaker likes.” She then reverted to Lakota. “I said it just now because I meant that I would very much like to soak with you in the hot springs, Three Hounds.”

Smiling, Sandor nodded at her. It pleased him that Sansa used his Lakota name in front of the people. Not only was it very respectful but the manner in which she said it sounded like a pet name, which Sandor enjoyed immensely. He also liked that she always explained things to him in a way that made him feel smart.

Settling herself, she closed her eyes once more, holding her medicine bag in her hands as she prayed. He decided he would pray silently for guidance, so Sandor sat beside her and also closed his eyes.

The people around them murmured loudly, to which Sandor glared at them.

“Silence, all of you!” He finally growled out, startling the people around them and Sansa in the process. “My wife is worshipping. It is rude to interrupt her. Her worship is not less because she is white; nor that she may be talking to the Christ god. You would not dare act this way toward me. The next person who speaks will answer to me.”

When all was quiet, his Little Bird closed her eyes and raised her face up to the sky, a small smile appearing on her lips as she did so, and then she slowly drew in a deep breath. 

Much talk had gone around the village about the way Sandor brought Sansa gifts from the white world into the tribe. It was not fitting for a warrior to spend so much time on his wife and it was too much medicine, they said, but Sandor was not interested in what anyone thought of him. Sansa Little Bird, the Red Wolf, was his; that was all that mattered.

Smiling, Sansa stood up when she was finished and held out her arms to him.

“It is a gift to have the sun warm my skin during Cannápopa Wi.” _Moon When Trees Crack From the Cold._ “I feel the gods heard me today.”

"I am certain they listen to you always, wife."  He answered quietly as he helped her to her feet. Sandor pointed up to the sky. The winter light glowed as a pale ring around the sun. “It is a good omen.”

“Really?” She smiled at him delightedly.

“Yes.” Sandor decided then that his prayers had been answered too, and today he would speak to Sansa about the woman who ran away.

“Today is my birthday.” Sansa blurted out suddenly. "I am missing my family."

Startled, he pulled her into his arms. “I am very pleased. How many winters are you?” Sandor asked.

“I am sixteen winters today,” Sansa smiled at him and bit her lip shyly.

“Then later I will kiss you for every winter you have been on this earth,” Sandor whispered into her ear and then kissed her neck. She tasted sweet and warm, like the herbs she used on her skin. The people around them tittered but he ignored them and continued to run his tongue over her pulse.

"Sandor! That tickles!" Giggling, she squirmed and moved away, to which he captured her in his arms once more.

"I will bring you a gift to celebrate." He growled into her ear.

"And honey cakes?" Sansa's eyes lit up.

"And honey cakes, yes." Sandor agreed.

“Three Hounds, how many winters are you?” Sansa twisted the ends of his hair playfully.

Sandor pondered her question a moment. “Twenty seven winters have passed since I came into the world during Ptanyétu.” _The Moons of Change._

“Then you found me near the day of your birth,” Sansa’s eyes twinkled happily at this. “Is it so?”

He nodded. “Four days after. It made finding you very special to me.”

Impulsively Sansa threw her arms around him and kissed him fully on the lips, her actions igniting another wave of comment among the people around them.

“Was I your gift?”

“Yes.”

Reticently Sandor looked down, the man suddenly serious.  He slowly traced him thumb over her jaw line and then cupped her head in his hand.

“That is why I call you Winter’s Gift.” The last word caught in his throat. He could see his suddenly emotional state startled her.

Sandor went on. “You were the gift Wakan Tanka sent me for my birth day, as you call it.”

Sansa raised her hand to his face and stared at him, her eyes glassing over with tears.

“That is so beautiful, Sandor,” she sniffed. “I thought you called me that because of the fight.”

“The _people_ call you that because of that. You fought for the chief and for them.” Sandor clarified while smoothing her hair away from her face. “I have called you that in my heart from the night I found you.”

The curious eyes of the camp weighed heavily on him. “Come, let us go to the hot springs where we can speak _in private_ ,” he glared at the onlookers.

Silently they hiked the narrow path toward the hot springs. Huge steam clouds billowed from the water and swirled high into the air around them.

After setting down their bundle of dry blankets and fresh clothes, Sandor knelt beside the waters. Carefully he dipped a carved buffalo bone into the waters and then dripped its contents onto the inside of his forearm.

Sansa watched expectantly as Sandor’s mouth curled into a smile. “The temperature is just right for bathing.”

Sandor dipped in the stick a second time and then allowed the water to run onto Sansa’s arm. “See how the water feels and remember it. The waters are a living thing and must be respected. Some days the gods of the water are angry; at such times it is far too hot for bathing. You must test their waters every time before going in to make sure the gods favor bathing. When they do, there is a healing of both body and mind within the waters. If you are ill, you can drink it and you will get well.”

“That is very interesting.” Sansa wrinkled her nose. “What is that odor?”

“It is the presence of the gods of the hot springs,” Sandor laughed outright at her displeased expression. “They make it smell bad but it is healing.” He nodded toward a freshwater pool nearby. “We can bath off over there afterward. The water is warm there, too, but it does not smell.”

Carefully he undressed Sansa and then himself, each movement gentle, the man willing her to relax and trust him before he broached the subject of the woman. She shivered as her flesh was revealed to the cold mountain air.

“Go on,” he urged her. "I will follow you."

Sighing softly, Sansa eased into the waters first and then splashed him playfully.

"Oh this is heavenly!"

Sandor also moved into the water and took her into his arms, moving her in front of him. After wiggling a bit, Sansa leaned against his bare chest and closed her eyes. Methodically Sandor cupped his hands and poured the warm waters over her skin, all the while struggling to not be distracted by the way the water trickled over her curves.

“It would not have ended the same way for you, Little Bird, believe that." Sandor began somewhat awkwardly. "I would not have allowed it because I cared for you from the moment I found you.”

Startled by his words, Sansa turned her eyes toward him.

“Do you mean that I would not have been left alone to fend for myself, like Mya?”

“Yes.” Sandor ran his hands over her shoulders. “I would not have done that to you.”

The corners of her eyes glistened. “Really? Why do you say that?”

“I would never have given you up so easily,” Sandor sheepishly stroked her cheek. “You are strong. You are the answer to my dream. You know how to survive.”

“But I could not have survived, not without you.” Sansa sadly lowered her eyes.

“You chose life. You chose for yourself, a life with me.” Sandor held her close. “A life as a Lakota woman, as Red Wolf.” Sandor stared into her eyes and smoothed his thumbs over her cheeks. “You would not have died.”

She tried to look away but he wouldn’t allow it.

“Can you not bear to look at me?” Sandor queried, voice sharpening.

“The only solace I have found is in your eyes,” Sansa sadly caressed his jawline. “And in your arms. It pains me to see the hurt in your eyes. You must believe that even though I felt bad for Mya, I never have regretted marrying you.”

“Think carefully. You have never been unhappy that you did so?” Sandor could not help but ask. “Even though your people will never again take you back and your god is angry?”

“No,” she reached for him then, the deep love in her eyes captivating him. “I love you very much and I am happy to be your wife.” Sansa looked at him. “Do you regret marrying me?”

“How could you ask such a thing?” Sandor struggled not to raise his voice.

“Well, I-I know not all the people like that you have chosen a white woman as your wife."

Angered, Sandor started to object but found that he could not.

"Sandor, there is no use denying it. I understand their talk, even if I do not answer it,” a tear rolled down her cheek as she spoke. “I know it is not easy for you to be my husband.”

“You must never think such a thing,” Sandor gripped her chin. “I am proud to have you. I love you more than anyone. I do not care what others say. If they hurt you, I will punish them.”

“I’m sad that Mya would not even try. Gun In The Water would have been good to her. But she could not abide a Lakota husband.” Sansa drew a deep breath. “And it hurts to know that some of the people cannot accept me, either.”

“The people will respect and honor you or I will kill them,” he snarled angrily. “You are the daughter of the chief, the wife of their future chief. Tell me who hurts you.”

“It isn’t only one person,” Sansa sniffled. “It is just like this morning. People disapproving of me praying, talking about me-“

“It will never happen again!” Sandor gritted his teeth. “I swear it on our marriage and on Wakan Tanka that I will end this nonsense with the people. Do you believe my words?”

“I do.” Sansa answered tearfully and then kissed him.

Sandor could see the truth in her face, in her gaze. “As for Mya, well, most whites do not want to stay with us, let alone marry us,” he answered plainly. “just as Father said. They fear the hot place of your god.”

Miserably Sansa agreed with him. “But you must believe that I do not fear it. Not anymore. No god would burn me for loving you, for being happy with you. We have a beautiful love that they have gifted to us. It does not make sense that either of us would be punished for doing their will.”

Sandor smoothed his hands over her body. “You are wiser than you know, wife.”

When they finished soaking, Sandor led her into the fresh water and tenderly bathed her skin. Sansa seemed comforted by his attentions, and she returned the favor in kind.

“Let us promise not to let such things come between us again.” Sansa quietly requested as they dressed. “Let us vow that we will always speak as openly as we have today, even if it hurts.”

“I promise, you, wife.” Sandor kissed her. “I will never hold back.”

“And I promise too, that I will never hide my feelings from you again.” Sansa then kissed him.

Afterward, they each drank from the hot springs and then returned to the tipi.

That night Sansa cuddled close to him, stroking Sandor’s skin while she whispered that she loved him, that he was her soul mate, and that she was proud to have him as her husband. Sandor’s heart both soared and ached at her declarations by turns, for he knew she did not want him to believe her grief over Mya meant she was sorry she married him. They had made love tenderly that night, and in the morning, Sansa was in a far better mood.

At midday, she called him over to her as fat snowflakes began to fall.

“I have something wonderful to tell you, husband,” Sansa giggled delightedly as she took his hands in her own and led him inside the tipi. After leading him to the furs, she patted the place beside her. “Come. Sit.”

Amused, Sandor obeyed and sat cross legged beside her. Sansa smiled brightly at him, unlaced her dress and let it fall from her body, then took his hand and rested it on her belly. “We are going to have a baby!”

“You are with child, truly?” Sandor asked incredulously, his fingers twitching over her rounded flesh before he lifted her into his arms and held her against him. Suddenly it all made sense: her melancholy, her paleness and the rounding out of her body; Sandor wondered how he could have missed the signs in his wife.

“Yes! We are having a baby!” Sansa laughed happily and kissed him. “He should come in Ptanyétu, _The Moons of Change,_ White Buffalo confirmed it just now. I have not bled since you returned from the raids. That is why I felt cross and sick in the mornings. Three Hounds, you are going to be a father.”

Hot tears flooded his eyes. Choking back a sob, Sandor buried his face in her hair. “My beautiful Red Wolf, you have made me so…” he hesitated to say it, so foreign was the feeling. After taking a deep breath, Sandor stroked his hands over her back and forced out the words. “You have made me so very happy.” Gently he kissed her and laid her back into the furs, the couple loving and laughing away the rest of the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even though respect for the Lakota religion requires that I do not give specifics about their worship, I have shared a few details in Sandor and Sansa's interactions here that hopefully my readers will find interesting.
> 
> By today's standards the age difference between Sansa and Sandor would be unacceptable but back then 10 to 12 years difference was normal. A warrior would have to prove himself before he was allowed to marry and also be old enough to have acquired enough material goods to provide for a wife, usually around 23. Women around the same age would have been married so most often warriors would choose women who were available, usually at least 5 years younger than themselves. If the man was widowed, he might choose a woman 10 to 12 years younger than him. But Lakota women were never married before 15 years of age and even in arranged marriages she always had agency; it was entirely up to her whether or not she went through with it and she was not punished for choosing not to do it.
> 
> The month that would correspond with Sandor's birthday would be September/October while Sansa's would be January/February since Lakota months consisted of 28 days.
> 
> The odor Sansa smells is sulfur and minerals which is also what makes the water healing and a natural antibiotic. It is not safe to drink from all hot springs.


	24. Sacred Gifts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told as much as I could about the ceremonial welcoming of new pregnancies without sharing too many religious details out of respect to the Lakota people. The Lakota have always treated religion as a private matter but among close friends it was appropriate to share. Now, however, because of the rampant, disrespectful appropriation of their traditions by New Age followers, hipsters and the like, they have all but forbidden the sharing of religious beliefs and customs with those who are not members of the Lakota nation. 
> 
> I asked my cousin, Trevor Running Bear (who is a holy man), for advise and permission, and he agreed that I could answer questions individually but not share them openly within the scope of the story. If any indigenous people find something disrespectful, please let me know.

Twilight’s purple haze filtered through the tipi walls as the snow began to fall. Reluctantly Sandor rolled Sansa onto her back and got up to light the fire. They had been celebrating the news of her pregnancy all afternoon, but Sansa knew there was one more discussion they needed to have, one that would likely have a far less pleasant outcome.

Even though she had promised Standing Bear that she would speak to Sandor about Joffrey, shame had clouded over her reason. Sandor viewed her as strong and fierce woman, a true wolf. She was embarrassed to admit her fiancé had beaten her, and even worse, that she stayed with him afterward. If Sandor knew, it would ruin his opinion of her. Before long, Sansa found herself unable to mention it to him. Thinking of it was physically painful for her, bringing on sharp stomach and headaches; she didn't want to imagine what speaking of it would bring on.

Margaery brought White Buffalo to see her.

“Your heart is in pain,” White Buffalo explained as she passed the smoking sage over her body. “You must tell all of it to your husband in order to feel better.”

“I cannot,” Sansa sobbed out. “He will think me weak.”

“Sandor will not think you weak, Sansa, you know that.” Margaery took her into her arms.

White Buffalo agreed. “You must free yourself. You have nothing to fear in telling Sandor. It’s the only way to heal your ills.”

In truth, Sansa was also fearful of Sandor’s response. She knew he would never hurt her but whether or not he would insist on going after Joffrey was another matter. Standing Bear had been very angry, as was Running Fox; Sandor would be enraged, inconsolable, of that she was certain. Sansa could not bear to have him leave her on such an errand, especially now that she was with child.

Bronn and Gun In The Water said that the bounty hunters had been sent by her former fiancé; Sandor must have heard the news as well. It was very unlike him, but Sansa discerned that while he had questions, Sandor had also proven himself unwilling to mention it. He had been downright taciturn lately. It was more that his usual reserved courtesy fueling his silence, Sansa knew, for many nights he went outside in the snows to chop firewood. Sandor would work furiously for hours nonstop, only to come inside, strip off his clothing and fall asleep without ever lighting a fire.

His behavior worried her. Sansa puzzled over why her normally straightforward husband had refrained from approaching her with his worries. With their child now confirmed to be on the way, Sansa knew it was time to bring it up; she owed Sandor that much.

As if reading her thoughts, Sandor sat down pulled her onto his lap facing him. Shyly Sansa smiled at him as he settled her hips against his thighs. His face turned grave as he regarded her. Gently she began caressing both sides of his face, encouraging him to speak.

“You are beautiful, Sansa,” Sandor rasped softly as he smoothed his hands over her belly. “You are my wife, my other skin. You are brave, fierce. A wolf. Now, you are the mother of my child. I love you. I want to know everything that is in your heart.”

“I love you, Sandor Three Hounds,” Her nerves were getting the better of her. Softly she brushed her mouth over his. “I want that, too. I want you to know everything about me. I will hold nothing back." Knowing that custom dictated that he needed her permission, she went on: "Ask me anything you like, husband.”

“Tell me about the white man Joffrey, the one who sent the men.” Sandor answered unhesitatingly as he stared deep into her eyes, his expression unyielding. “Who was he to you? Why does he search for you with lowly bounty hunters?”

Stiffening at the sound of Joffrey’s name, Sansa’s face immediately fell. Casting her eyes downward, she whispered. “He was my betrothed but not my love. My family and I came from England so that I would be married to him, but I did not choose him.”

“How you were promised to him?” Sandor barked out, the man barely able to conceal his growing anger. “Did no one ask for your agreement before the arrangement was made?”

Sansa began fidgeting until Sandor ran his hands soothingly over her back and hips. “Forgive me. I should not interrupt. Please go on.”

“No, Sandor they did not ask me,” she swallowed hard, mustering her courage. “It was arranged by our fathers. Joffrey is the son of a very close friend of my father, a man named Robert Baratheon. They were raised in the same household but they are not blood brothers.” She hesitantly raised her gaze to his, and to her surprise, found Sandor’s countenance to be very calm.

“I see.” He brushed her hair over her shoulder. “You have nothing to fear in honesty, wife. Free yourself.”

“Robert wanted our families to be joined by marriage so their fortunes could be combined, thus benefiting all. So, when I was thirteen winters old, Robert came to our home and asked my father to promise me in marriage to his son Joffrey.” Sansa blinked back tears. “I never wanted to marry him. He was very handsome but he was unspeakably cruel to men and animals alike.” She shivered then. “I told my father I did not want it.”

“He would not listen to your words?” Sandor queried. “Not even when you clearly said no?”

“No.” Sansa bit her lip.

“That is not right, Sansa!” Sandor snarled out. “It is the woman’s decision whether or not she takes a man. It is not her father’s place to ignore her wishes; his place is to honor them!”

Puzzled, Sansa asked: “Do I understand you correctly that even in arranged marriages, the Lakota let the woman decide if she will accept the man?”

“Of course it is her decision,” Sandor answered, disbelief and alarm written plainly on his face. “We do not force our women to marry. It is unthinkable. It is cruel.  It would be very bad medicine for the couple and worse still for the children who come into the union.”

“Well, it is not the same with whites. I had to honor my father’s wishes, according to our ways.” Sansa’s voice faltered. “I was raised to follow whatever my father said, to obey without question. My sister Arya, however, felt no such duty.”

Sandor nodded his head. “She was more free spirited, that is why.”

“Yes,” Sansa smiled in spite of herself; Sandor was amazingly intuitive. “She ran away with a young man she cares for named Gendry Waters. I know she was afraid that our parents would then engage her to Joffrey since I wanted to break off the engagement. It was smart of her to run away for certainly she would have been expected to take my place.”

“Would your father do such a thing?” Sandor’s eyes glimmered. “If the only benefit was to join money?”

“Yes,” Sansa reluctantly replied. “But Father understood after Joffrey beat me when I told him I did not wish to marry him. My father agreed to let me call it off, and that is why we came west.”

Sansa could hear his teeth grinding together but he did not interrupt her, nor did he ask more questions.

“You should not have to be beaten for the men in your family to listen to you,” he finally rasped low, “You are safe, now, wife.” Sandor’s large hands soothingly glide over her shoulders and back. “You need never fear him again, or his memory. Tell me of this man.”

After Sansa assented, he went on. “Was that the only time he beat you or did he do this often? And is this the way he treated you normally?”

“He had beaten me many times, and he also had ordered his men to do likewise. He spoke terribly to me.”

Sandor clenched his teeth so hard that blood seeped from his lips.

Cautiously she continued: “Joffrey thought of me as property, no different than the Southerners view their slaves. He told me he owned me, and called me his whore, his bitch.”

“What are these words _whore_ and _bitch_?” Sandor spat out through clenched teeth.The words sounded similar to those the whites used referring to his mother. “These arevbad names?”

“Yes. _Whore_ is used to refer to a woman who has sex with men for money.” She paused, noticing Sandor gripping his fists so hard that his knuckles turned white. “And a _bitch_ is a female dog. It is meant to humiliate a woman, saying that she is no better.”

“A man who would mistreat a woman in such a way is no man. You do not bear any shame for his behavior.” Sandor nearly shouted in his anger. “It is not yours to bear, Sansa. Tell me you believe my words!”

“Part of me believes it, but another part wonders if I could have done something differently so he would not act in such a way-“

Her words were interrupted when Sandor leapt to his feet and began pacing back and forth as he ran his hands back through his hair. After several moments, he calmed. Returning to Sansa’s side, Sandor took her into his arms once more. “Forgive me. Go on.”

“There is more,” Sansa wrung her hands. “He would beat me often, particularly if I displeased him.” Unable to contain her sadness, she then burst into tears. Covering her face with her hands, the words came pouring out of her like water burst forth from a dam. “He had his guards beat me, too. They hit me so hard in the face that they split open my lip. One man, Meryn Trant was his name, he whipped me just like Mya did to Butterscotch.”

Cautiously Sansa glanced up at him before hiding her face once more.

Outraged, Sandor clenched his fists and his jaw, the prominent vein in his forehead standing out. His eyes glittered in fury as he drew closer to her, closing the distance she had put between them.

“No,” Sandor softly said, reaching his hand out to her. When she accepted, his hands drew around her back, squeezing Sansa tenderly in his arms. Gently Sandor took her hands away from her face, almost gently. “You must not hide from me. My anger is not yours. It belongs to him alone. Joffrey is a coward.” Sandor’s voice had lowered to a menacing timbre. He spat on the ground after he spoke Joffrey’s name.

“I know, Sandor. But he thinks he is a hard man, one to be feared.” Sansa could hear Sandor snort derisively. Still avoiding his gaze, she turned her back. “See the red stripes on my skin? Those are lashings I received because he was mad at my brother.”

Sandor’s breath fell hot against her neck as he took in measured inhalations in an effort to calm himself. His fingers delicately traced the marks on her skin, the touch in sharp contrast to the fury Sansa could feel radiating off his body.

 “These are not from the Pawnee.” It was not a question. His hands trembled as he reverently caressed the marred flesh above her waist.

“No.” She cat her eyes downward.

Sansa felt his mouth, warm and soft, gently kissing each of the scars on her skin.

“I fear no coward who beats women.” He whispered against her skin. “But he should fear _me._ ”

“Sandor, Joffrey will never let me go.” Shivering, Sansa looked over her shoulder at him.

“He already has, wife,” Sandor tipped her face up to his. “You are my wife, and the mother of our child. I challenge him to come here and face me. I challenge him!”

“He might come for me yet,” Sansa shrugged. “I do not know.”

“Let him come to me,” Sandor seethed. “He will taste my blade. And I will make sure you never fall into his hands again. I swear it.”

“Joffrey will keep after me only because he views me as property.”

“You are _not_ his property!” Sandor slammed his fist into the floor. “You are not a horse to be owned! You are free!”

“His family still wants the Stark family’s money. I am so sorry I did not tell you, Sandor but when I first arrived here I was too ashamed to admit that not all of my wounds were from the Pawnee and that the man who was meant to be my husband was the one who hurt me.”

“Do not make his shame yours,” Sandor took her into his arms and tenderly kissed each of her cheeks. “It is mine.”

“Your shame?” Sansa asked, confused. “Why do you say that?”

“Yes, mine.” Sandor breathed out. Abruptly he stood and began pacing, just as his father had done when he heard her story. “That a man who has abused my beloved wife still walks the earth is my shame. If he ever comes here, I will kill him. I will bring you his scalp. I will bore out his eyes that looked upon you, cut out the tongue that called you bad words, and chop off the hands that struck you.”

Shivering once again, Sansa dared not look away from him.

Sandor held her face in both hands. “No one will ever hurt you again, Sansa.” He kissed each of her cheeks, the tip of her nose and then her lips.

“But my being with you might put the tribe at risk-“

“You are Lakota. Every warrior would fight to the death to keep you safe, wife,” Sandor reassured her. “You need not fear him.” He gripped her chin tightly. “Tell me that you believe me.”

She wanted to believe him with all her heart, she did, but there were still doubts in her mind. Joffrey had plenty of money at his disposal to find her, and there was no way to make Sandor understand.

“I-I do, Sandor.” Sansa swallowed her doubts, leaned forward and kissed him. “I believe you.”

* * *

The winter months passed quickly despite the fact that the freezing weather kept the couple bound indoors. Lady had burrowed out a snow den next to their tipi, and so Sandor built a smaller enclosure for her that covered a path from inside her den to the back of the tipi. Many in the tribe laughed at him for accommodating a wolf.

“Would you leave the sister of your wife out in the cold?” He challenged all who dared snicker at him. "You are heartless, then. The Wolf Mother would be angry at you for such mistreatment."  His protectiveness toward her wolf pleased Sansa very much.

The animal seemed to sense Sansa was pregnant, for she danced around and eagerly sniffed her belly while happily vocalizing in whines and yips. She grew increasingly protective of Sansa, snarling and snapping at anyone who approached her unannounced; all except for Sandor. Her behavior unnerved the tribe further, but Sansa did not care; she thought it a miracle, a blessing from the gods that she had the companionship of such a magnificent animal.

Since Sansa had very little morning sickness, she was able to keep up with her chores in the home. However, as her belly grew, Sandor would not hear of it, and the man insisted that the women do her share of the work in addition to their own. Anyone who dared question Sandor was fiercely reprimanded.

Despite Sansa’s repeated reassurances, Sandor refused to leave her side for more than a few hours at a time, and he would post Black Elk or Gun In The Water outside their tipi whenever he left the village. She never asked what he said to the men before he left, but it was clear by their fearful countenances that his warnings were deadly serious.

She could not help but marvel at the changes fatherhood wrought in her fierce warrior husband. To the surprise of everyone, Sandor had taken to hunting and trapping every day so Sansa would have as much meat as she wanted to eat, and thus, she was nearly always in the company of one of his best warriors as well as Running Fox.  When he had acquired more meat than she could finish in one setting, Sandor scandalized the tribe by refusing to share his spoil with anyone other than Bronn.

“For Margaery,” he would gruffly announce as Sansa handed them the bounty. “For the new one.”

Sandor had explained to Sansa that custom forbade anyone in the tribe referring directly to the new baby, lest Iktomi (the Lakota shapeshifter spider god of tricks and mischief, much like the Norse god Loki) heard of the pregnancy and brought bad luck upon the unborn child. After three months had passed, Wakan Tanka would bring the baby under his protection, he assured her, and so at that time the tribe would rejoice with a huge celebration.

Margaery had been very upset that no one congratulated her until Sansa explained the reasoning behind it; then she was thrilled. She was further along than Sansa, but she insisted the tribe wait until Sansa had reached her third month so the tribe would celebrate both of their children together.

“Yes, for Margaery and the new one.” Sansa intoned politely as Bronn accepted the meat. Sandor smiled at her, pleased.

“Thank you both, you are very generous.” Bronn bowed to each of them. “I need not hunt at all with you, brother,” he then teased Sandor, who only huffed his reply.

“You needn’t be so grave, husband,” Sansa needled him playfully as they returned to their tipi.

Solemnly Sandor kissed each of her hands. “I must be. I must show the gods my fierceness, that I will be good to my family. The Trickster cannot hear of it. I must do all I can to keep you both safe and happy.”

“We _are_ safe and happy,” she moved his hand to her belly. “Feel my stomach. The new one responds to your voice.”

“Really?” Sandor raised his brow.

The babe squirmed inside of her at the sound of his voice, delighting Sandor so that he held his hand there the rest of the night, the man eagerly waiting for the child to move again.

Following White Buffalo’s suggestion, each day Sandor would walk Sansa around the village for exercise. He brought his war lance and used it to clear a path for Sansa as they went, demanding everyone give her room and stand aside so she would not risk falling.  His behavior soon became the talk of the village, yet no one had the courage to approach the chief about it.

According to tradition, after three months passed, the tribe formally acknowledged Sansa and Margaery’s pregnancies by holding a great feast on the first night of the moon of Wetú. _The Moons of Renewal and Growth (Spring) corresponding to March/April._

Long tables filled with buffalo meat, tongue and liver, wild turkey, fish and stews as well as honey cakes, pumpkin cakes, roast ears of corn, popped corn and pumpkin slices were laid out for the people. Great baskets ready to receive the presents were set up near the family blanket of Standing Bear.

Delighted, Sansa and Margaery were led by Many Moons and Black Bird to the front of the feasting area and seated them on the special blanket decorated with the many animal signs of Standing Bear’s family members.

Without guidance from their husbands, the tribe watched anxiously as the women carefully chose where to sit. After some deliberation, Sansa chose to sit on the embroidered bear while Margaery seated herself on the furry buffalo.

Gleefully all the women clapped and shouted joyously when their selections were made. Standing Bear nodded approvingly and waved his staff over them, shaking the rattle as he did so.

Sandor’s face broke into a beaming smile at Sansa’s choice, the man then eagerly kissing her in front of the tribe.  “You have chosen well. Our baby is now Little Winter Bear.”

Giggling happily, Sansa clung to him.  “I love it. Is it a name for a boy or a girl?”

Shrugging, Sandor whispered in her ear. “It does not matter, wife. The baby’s name is its name, regardless. The Great Spirit has chosen for us. That is all that matters.”

Tenderly she caressed his cheek before kissing him in front of everyone, much to the amusement of the tribe.

Bronn likewise showered Margaery with affection once she settled onto the buffalo. The two whispered to each other until Margaery smiled broadly at him and then covered his face with kisses.

Standing Bear stepped forward. “Wakan Tanka has led the women to the names of the unborn spirits. The fathers will announce them.”

Sandor proudly stood beside Sansa. “Our child is known from this day forward as Little Winter Bear.” _Chikala Waniyetu Mato._

The tribe exulted, shouting and jingling their war lances in celebration. It was all so beautiful to Sansa that, though she knew she should remain dignified, could not help but smile at each one of the people. One glance at Sandor showed that he, too, could not contain his happiness.

When everyone quieted, Standing Bear turned to Bronn and gestured for him to come forward. "My son, share with us."

With great pride, Bronn announced: “The child of Healing Needle and Black Water will be known as White Medicine Calf.” _Ska Pejuta Pte._

Once again a great jubilation went up from among the people. When everyone finally settled down, the feast began with Sansa and Margaery being offered the first choice of every dish. Sandor and Bronn patiently waited to be given what was left over after every member of the tribe was served.

“Are you not hungry, my love?” Sansa asked worriedly as she offered him a huge rib from her overfilled trough.

“Yes, of course I am. I will eat more later. That is for you to eat.” Sandor gently caressed her back as he knelt beside her. "It is for Little Winter Bear and Healing Needle and White Medicine Calf."

“I do not understand.” She glanced about. “Is not the feast for the husbands too?”

“Yes but what is expected of us is different than what is expected of you,” he smiled at her. “You and Healing Needle have brought sacred gifts to the people. For us, eating last is a symbolic gesture to show that Bronn and I will serve and provide for our families and the tribe before we think of ourselves. It is good medicine for the children, for in the womb they will learn that their fathers are brave and put the needs of the people first. When they grow up, they will instinctively do likewise.”

Nodding, Sansa smiled up at him understandingly. “Well, then, I will feed you well later.”

After everyone ate their fill, Standing Bear indicated it was time for the offerings.

Each member of the tribe bowed low to the ground and then placed their presents in the baskets beside each expectant mother. “Cante waste nape ciyuzapo. Wakan Takan kici un, wakan yeja.” _Today is a good day. May the Great Spirit bless you, sacred gift._

Before long, Margaery and Sansa’s baskets were filled with dream catchers, baby blankets embroidered with bears, wolves, and buffalo, tiny moccasins, cradles, child carriers and rattles. Eagerly the women examined each gift carefully in front of the givers while praising the workmanship of every item. When the givers were satisfied the gift was deemed worthy, they then returned to feasting and dancing.  

Afterward, Bronn and Sandor admired the presents and then the men invited the rest of the tribe to look at the gifts.

When all the blessings and gifts had been given, the tribe continued the celebration while Sansa, Sandor, Bronn and Margaery returned to their tipis. The beat of the drums went on all through the night, only stopping just before dawn.

Sansa’s eyes were heavy but her heart was full, and she could not go to sleep. Sandor, for his part, stayed awake with her, eating whatever he could find the rest of the evening.

The camp had hardly quieted before Lady’s mournful howling broke the stillness of the morning air. Several of the old women’s shrill cries sent a sharp cold fear through Sansa.

“Wasicu akicita! Wasicu akicita!” The women cried.  _White soldiers! White soldiers!_


	25. Cavalry

Anyone who dared enter the village from the mountain pass would be attacked for certain, but Sandor did not hear any noise of battle.  

“They have come for me,” Sansa sat down and gripped her knees, rocking herself back and forth. “Joffrey must have sent them.”

Sandor knelt beside her and took her into his arms. “It does not matter. You will be safe. But let us stay silent.”

He felt her nod against his chest.

Keening his ears, Sandor strained to listen but the only sounds he heard was that of the warriors readying their weapons and horses. Grabbing his grizzly necklace and war lance, Sandor stormed out of the tipi.

He followed the direction of Lady’s growls toward the tributary. Beside the rushing whitecaps of the river stood ten cavalry soldiers flanked by three other white men all pinned against the embankment by Sansa’s wolf.

Sandor watched as six other wolves came down from the hills and circled them, causing the horses to neigh and dance sideways.

Hackles raised, Lady positioned herself between the tribe and the soldiers, effectively blocking their advance toward the village. Raising her head, she let out several yips.

The other wolves crept closer on their bellies, causing the horses to twist and buck underneath the riders.

Behind him, Sansa gasped. “Sandor, the man with the curly hair on the buckskin horse-he is Margaery’s brother Loras. And the other…”

Sandor stopped in his tracks. “I will tell the others.” He called to the warriors. “The man with curving hair is Healing Needle’s brother. Do not hurt him.”

Margaery rushed toward Sansa. “Did I hear you say that Loras is here?” she eagerly glanced about.

“Yes, he came with the cavalrymen,” Sansa embraced her. “Come with me.”

“No,” Margaery shook her head, “as much as I want to run into his arms, my appearance will provoke the soldiers. Let Loras come to me.”

“Will you-will you leave Bronn and go with him?” Sansa searched her face.

Panicked, Sandor bit the inside of his mouth as he waited for her response.

“No,” Margaery shook her head. “I love him. Our baby will be coming soon. But I'm thrilled to see my brother."

"Of course," Sansa smiled, patting her friend on the cheek.

 “Healing Needle, we will do our best to not provoke your brother or the soldiers," abruptly Sandor turned to Sansa, cupping her face in his left hand, "Sansa, stay with the women, cante skuya _sweetheart_. Say you will.”

“Respectfully I will not, Mahansani,” she shook her head. “I will stay beside you.”

“Please, wife-“

Sansa took his hands in her own. “They will not harm you if I am there.”

Her utter look of confidence unnerved him. _Had she had another vision?_ Sandor wondered, but decided not to ask just then.

“And what makes you certain of that?” He knitted his brows. “They have no honor.”

“They have a principle that will not allow them to risk killing me in order to get to you or the people.” Sansa held his arm. “Please hear me.”

Sandor shook his head. “I hear you but I do not agree. They kill women and children often, wife. I have made resting places for many of them myself. They kill without mercy. They kill without honor.”

“ _Indian_ women and children they kill, Sandor.” Sansa pointed out. “I understand what you are saying and your words are true. But to the whites, well, they do not view Indians as human, I am sorry to say. They do not treat their own the same.”

Horrified, Sandor drew a sharp angry breath.

“I mean no disrespect, but you are mistaken. We have heard even from our enemies how they kill their own in the Great War to the south. They leave their own people unburied, Sansa-they leave them for the animals.” He held her hand tightly, willing her to believe him.

“Yes, it is true. But these men belong to a different sort of soldier.”

Frowning, Sandor squinted at her.

“They will be severely punished by their superior officers if they treat a white woman or child in such a manner,” Sansa explained as she ran her hands over her belly, “and I am both white and with child. They will not hurt me. I can keep the people safe.”

Grunting, Sandor started to turn away, then gripped her chin in his fingers. “Today is not the day I die. I am not afraid of them. I am not afraid of their weapons. And I will not live to see the day that I use my wife and child as living shields against the whites.”

“Please, Sandor, I have faith in you. But allow me this,” Sansa insisted as she placed her wolf robe around her shoulders. “You saved me from the Pawnee; please, let me to help you.”

“What would you have me do?” Sandor growled low, caressing her cheek as he did so.

His warriors rode up beside them while Bronn handed Sandor the reins.  

“What do you have to say, Red Wolf? What will we do?”

“Let me translate for you,” Sansa quietly suggested. “Speak only Lakota and pretend you do not understand English. If they mean harm, they will let their true intentions be known, thinking they are safe in their deception since they will believe you do not understand them.”

Slowly he agreed, as did Bronn. “You are wise, Red Wolf. We will do as you say.”

Sandor and the men watched as Lady snapped at the soldier’s horses.

“Šung'manitu Cuwewaya, _Wolf Sister_ ,” Sandor called out. “Come to me.” At once Lady ran toward him while the other wolves held their ground.

“Protect Red Wolf.” He bent down and rasped into her ear while giving her a piece of dried fish. “Kill for her.”

Obediently the wolf sat at Sansa’s feet, all the while never taking her eyes off the soldiers.

“I must see to the men, Sansa.” Sandor pressed his forehead to her own and held her face in his hands. “No one will hurt you again, Mahansani, or I’ll kill them. You will be safe. Come with me and translate for me.”

Nodding, Sansa followed as Sandor then stood beside Standing Bear in front of the warriors.

“Wait until the come to the banks of the water, my sons.” Standing Bear quietly said.

When the white soldiers were in position, he nodded once toward Bronn.

With tremendous strength, Bronn drew his long bow far back and let two arrows fly, the projectiles lodging deep into the dead grass in the banks in front of the wolves.

Sandor rode forward, waving his war lance. Black Elk, Gun In The Water, and the other warriors pressed their mounts forward, flanking him.

”Ma Yamni Sunka. Ma sni khokipha!”

The soldiers visibly paled and looked at one another as Sandor challenged them, giving the seasoned warrior a deep sense of satisfaction. _Perhaps they are not as stupid as I thought. But they will still be easy prey._

He turned to see Standing Bear gesture to Sansa.

“You and I will only speak Lakota to each other,” the chief said. “Answer them, please.”

“Ma Yamni Sunka. Ma sni khokipha!” Sandor shouted again.

She stepped forward. “He says: I am Three Hounds,” Sansa called out. “I am not afraid of you. He says these words twice for emphasis, for he is the fiercest warrior among his people.”

“You are white.” Loras stared at her. "You speak for him?”

Since the chief made no answer, Sansa remained silent.

Bronn rolled his eyes and spoke to Sandor in Lakota. “This one speaks needlessly. Of course she is white. He hears her speak after you and yet he asks such a question. He must be slow of mind.”

Sneering, Sandor spat on the ground and inched his horse forward. “I will kill him if I do not like his words.”

Nervously Loras glanced sideways at Sandor and Bronn before addressing Sansa once more. “You speak English?”

Sansa looked questioningly between him and Standing Bear, who then nodded at her.

“Yes.” Sansa drew in a deep breath, betraying her anxiety. “I am Three Hounds’ wife. I am here to speak to you for him.”

“And what is your name, ma’am?” The lead officer leaned forward in the saddle.

“I am Red Wolf, wife of Three Hounds.” Sansa eyed each man gravely. “I am here merely to translate. You must address the chief when you speak.”

“Is he the chief?” A man with long blonde hair wearing buckskins pointed toward Sandor.

Whirling around, Sandor charged them. The men all fumbled to raise their weapons until he stopped short of them.

“Sni epazo míš ya mis paksa! _Do not point your finger at me or I will cut it off!”_

“What is wrong? What did he say?” The blonde man asked.

“Do not answer him.” Standing Bear advised under his breath in Lakota. “You will make Sandor their target.”

Solemnly Sansa looked at the soldiers.

“I do not translate for you. I translate for my husband. Your pointing gesture is highly offensive so I advise you to stop immediately.”

Sandor had to fight the smirk threatening his face at her words.

“Ma’am, we meant no offense. I am Edward Smith, Agent of Indian Affairs, Pine Creek.” The blonde man held up his hands. “Tell your husband.”

Standing Bear assented, so Sansa translated his words to her father in law.

“If you are an agent of Indian Affairs, how is it that you do not know our customs?” Standing Bear asked in Lakota while eyeing the men suspiciously.

“He wants to know why you would come to his people as an agent of the whites without understanding our ways.” Sansa looked at each man as she spoke.

“We are still learning. We mean you and your people no disrespect or harm.” The agent signaled toward the soldiers. “This is Mr. Meryn Trant and Mr. Loras Tyrell. We were told we should come accompanied by the cavalry for safety.”

Meryn stepped forward. “Don’t you know me, Red Wolf?”

Sansa’s face was unmoving, revealing nothing as to her state of mind, her demeanor bringing great pride to her husband even as his rage grew stronger at the familiar name. _She has learned her manners well_ , Sandor said to himself. _And I will avenge her._

“I am not who you think I am,” Sansa quietly answered. “You are mistaken.”

Meryn laughed haughtily.

The men edged further away from the banks.

“Ma’am, can we speak to the chief?” The major asked impatiently.

“You must be invited to speak to him.” Sansa folded her arms. “You must ask for an invitation.”

“Well then, ask for it, red bitch!” One of the soldiers snorted out derisively. “We haven’t got all day.”

Sansa's cheeks pinked with anger but to her credit, she remained composed.

Sandor, however, was not: black fury flooded him, both as her husband and a warrior; he recognized the disparaging word and wanted to cut the man’s tongue out for his insolence toward a Lakota woman, the woman who was presently heavy with his child. With great difficulty Sandor waited for direction from his father, his knuckles whitening around the bone handle of his war knife.

“Three Hounds, do what you must. Black Water, lead the rest closer to the water’s edge.” Standing Bear folded his arms. “Do not let them near the camp.”

Without hesitation, Sandor expertly drew his knife. Lady lunged at the man and dragged him off his horse while the rest of the white men scrambled away from her wolf companions.

In a moment Sandor dismounted and slit the man's throat. “Ho eyas wana hecetu! _That is enough of you!”_ Sandor then remounted, raised his war lance and charged the men. "Ma Yamni Sunka. Ma sni khokipha! _I am Three Hounds! See that I am not afraid of you!”_

The cavalrymen started shouting and fumbling with their rifles while Bronn lead the other warriors to surround the men above the embankment.

“Yamni Sunka! _Three Hounds!”_ Standing Bear called out.

Sandor pulled up short on the reins at his father’s words, glaring at the frightened soldiers as he halted his attack.

“What’s happening?” The Indian agent panicked, glancing between Sandor and Standing Bear, then at the dead soldier at his feet. “There was no need for that. Boros was a good man.”

He gaped at the soldiers and then turned to Sandor, who met his eyes with cold reserve.

“We don’t want war, missus,” he pleaded. “Tell him.”

His cowardice fueled Sandor’s fury.

“It is not for you to say when the Lakota make war,” Sansa emotionlessly answered. “Your man was despicable to me. My husband will not tolerate it.”

“Did he understand the words?” The agent asked disbelievingly.

“Does it matter?" Sansa raised her brow. "He understood the tone.”

Sandor pushed his horse into the man and glowered at him, hatred burning in his eyes. Never before had his war lance called for a scalp as it did that of the white agent and the man called Meryn.  

“Yuksa! Niye sni waste! _Stop. Come no further.”_ He growled out.

“Three Hounds demands your men stop and that you come no further.” Sansa translated calmly. “You are not welcome here.”

“Canl, pe sni ekta wayaka! _Coward, do not look back!”_

“Three Hounds is giving you the opportunity to leave peacefully without further bloodshed.”

Sandor wanted to laugh at his wife’s decidedly more agreeable way of translating his words.

“We don’t want a fight, ma’am, please; everyone just calm down,” the oldest officer tipped his hat. “I’m Major Wesley Merritt from Camp Robinson. Corporal Boros spoke out of turn and I apologize deeply for the disgraceful behavior of my men.”

Sansa turned to face Standing Bear as she translated the officer’s words.

Sandor angrily spat on the ground. “Iye iyapi hi tȟaté. _His words are wind.”_

“Three Hounds is right. He need not apologize. They were not his words and it is not his place to ask for forgiveness,” Standing Bear angrily added. “You are my daughter and no one will be allowed to disrespect you.”

“You need not apologize, Major, for the words were not yours,” Sansa spoke in English. “But neither my husband, the chief, nor the warriors will tolerate any further disrespect in our conversation.”

“Of course, ma’am.” Edward swallowed uneasily and then glared at the soldiers. “Let’s begin again, shall we?”

Sansa lowered her eyes and nodded in assent.

“Let me state our business. We’re looking for two English women taken by the Pawnee. Their families are offering a large sum of money for them. Have you seen them?”

Sansa translated for Standing Bear, who sighed in response. 

“The men are rude. Introductions should come first. Tell the soldier and the agent to come forward. I will speak to them in private. The rest of the men are not permitted,” he answered in Lakota. “If they cross the river, there will be war.”

Impressed by her authoritative demeanor, Sandor proudly watched Sansa address the men. Straightening her shoulders, Sansa stepped forward.

“Agent Smith and Major Merritt, you may meet with Chief Standing Bear,” she called out. “He will speak to you in private. Your safety is assured. The rest of your men must stay where they are. If they attempt to cross the river with you, it will be a declaration of war on the Lakota.”

Without waiting for a reply, she quietly moved out of the earshot of the soldiers and returned to the chief’s side.  He held his hand out to her. “Daughter, to me.”

Bowing, Sansa accepted, smiling at Standing Bear as she did so. "It is my honor, Father."

The soldiers all began speaking at once, causing Sandor to marvel at the lack of respect for their leader as well as their disunity. Curious, he rode forward to listen to the talk, though he pretended not to understand as he gestured to his men.  _The white men are bickering among themselves._ Sandor moved closer to see if he could make out their words.

“But I am Margaery’s brother, I must know if she is with them! Sir, you cannot go over there with just the Indian Agent,” Loras leaned forward in his saddle. “It is too dangerous.”

He eased his horse closer as he spoke.

At once Black Elk charged forward, blocking their way. “Naȟ’úŋ Ša Šung'manitu iyapi na naȟ’úŋ t’a.  _Hear Red Wolf’s words and obey or die._ ”

Sandor rode closer to his wife and father. “The man wants to see Healing Needle. He claims to be her brother.”

“Have you met this man before?” Standing Bear asked Sansa.

“No. I only saw him from a distance once," she peeked at him curiously. "I see the resemblance but I do not know what sort of man he is, Father.”

Bronn rode up just then. “Little Bird is right; he has the look of Yellow Flower’s brother. Let us speak with him.”

His brother always had an eye for recognizing similarities between family members both in demeanor and appearance, a trait Sandor often envied. "Yes, we should speak to him."

“Tell them he may come but no others, Three Hounds,” Standing Bear stated, waving his war lance. “Have Bronn bring them. That is all I have to say.”

“Yes, Father.”

Sansa returned to her place before the men while Sandor positioned his horse between them. "Sansa, say your words please."

“The man may join the captain and agent at the chief’s invitation,” Sansa spoke softly. “No others. Black Water, please lead him over.”

With that Sansa took the hand of the chief and strode away toward the tipi of meeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Entering the Lakota camp from the rear was a declaration of war; entering from the front was considered polite and a gesture of goodwill. White soldiers were ignorant of such customs and thus did not realize the way they approached the tribe drastically affected the outcome of the encounter.
> 
> To point at someone is unspeakably rude and reason enough to cut off the digit. Any man who dared call a woman in the tribe a dirty name would automatically be killed or at the very least, have his tongue cut out-it was left up to the woman to decide. No male family member would allow such talk to go unchallenged because her honor was at stake, and if the woman had no living male relatives, the bravest warrior would stand in the staid of the dead male family members in defending her.
> 
> This is done to a lesser degree even today. Once a man called me a stuck up bitch for refusing to talk to him in a restaurant and my cousin broke his nose and knocked him out in front of everyone. My uncle was very concerned that I was pleased in the way it was handled, not that my cousin had been in a fight. 
> 
> Courtesy is so ingrained in Lakota culture that in most phrases, the use of please and thank you is implied within the language. This gives a very formal appearance to their conversations when translated into English.
> 
> Sansa, being white, would naturally be consulted on how to best handle the soldiers. Her gender would not be a consideration at all in the matter. It was considered an honor for a white or half white spouse to translate for the tribe, for it meant carrying the words of the chief. The way the chief held her hand showed he, in effect, was transferring his authority over to her while she translated his words, meaning that the warriors would listen to her in the same way they did him as long as she served as his "voice". It also told the tribe to defend her as they would him.


	26. Loras

Standing Bear and Sansa stood in silence. She knew her and Margaery's presence had drawn the men to the village, possibly endangering everyone in the process, yet the chief did not seem angry with her.

Sansa knew then in her heart that she did not want to return to the white settlements, and she could not bear the idea that they would try to separate her from Sandor. Would the chief let them have her and Margaery to keep peace? She doubted that,  but she knew the men would fight to take them too. She had already seen the lascivious way the soldiers eyed her. Nervously Sansa fidgeted with the fringe on her sleeve, the waiting becoming unbearable.

Faintly the agitated sounds of the camp announced the arrival of the white men.

"Forgive us, Father, for certainly the soldiers came for us," Sansa tearfully blurted out. "They take white people away. I don't want to go with them, please-"

“You are Lakota, daughter," he spoke evenly. "No one will let them take you. I would never give you up to them, either; calm yourself. You are safe."

She nodded.

"Now, I wish you to translate for the white men, Red Wolf.” The chief announced. “I am able to understand simple white words if they are spoken slowly, but not good enough to talk to these men."

"I will do as you say."

Standing Bear paused, gathering his thoughts. "I also lack ability to sense white deception in their words, for the white talk often has hidden meanings. Three Hounds and Black Water are much better at sensing it, perhaps because they are half white.” He faced her and took her hands in his. “Wakan Tanka moved me to give you to Three Hounds, Red Wolf, knowing that one day we would need your white words and your wisdom. It is the same with Healing Needle.”

“Thank you, Father,” she bowed to him. “You honor me. I will do my best to please you."

“You always do. You are wise, daughter, and a true gift of winter. Do what you must to reveal their intentions.” Standing Bear squeezed her hands. "Trust yourself. The gods work through you."

Quietly Sansa said a prayer, for she wasn’t certain what, if anything, would be needed on her part  during the conversation. The white men, knowing she spoke Lakota, would most likely be wary around her and Margaery, regardless of how well-mannered she approached them; Sandor and Bronn, however, would be another matter.

“You honor me with your trust. I am pleased to have your words. I will serve you and the people gladly, Father,” Sansa smiled at her father in law.

Pleased, he patted her arm. “Good child.”

Hesitating, she chose her next words carefully. “The men are arrogant. I believe it might be wise for you to send away Margaery and I once the introductions are made. No doubt the soldiers will be on their best behavior in front of us, knowing we can reveal their talk, but in our absence they will speak of their intentions openly.”

“Yes, your words are good.” Standing Bear agreed.

“I do not wish to offend you, but I would let the white men speak freely in front of you, Sandor and Bronn without fear of their words being revealed. It is important that your face does not speak your thoughts.” Anxiously Sansa watched him.

Slowly the chief nodded as he comprehended her meaning. “I will do as you say, daughter. When you think it is a good time, fold your hands in your lap and I will dismiss you. I will tell Bronn and Sandor not to reveal they know the white talk of the soldiers.”

Smiling, Sansa agreed. “You are wise and good, my chief.”

Running Fox opened the flap and helped Margaery inside. Soon after, White Buffalo entered the tipi.

“Healing Needle, your brother is coming soon to see you,” she smoothed down Margaery’s hair. “Are you pleased?”

Sansa watched as her friend’s eyes filled with tears.

“Yes, I have missed him terribly.” Margaery dabbed her eyes with a cloth. “I am most happy to have him among the people.”

“Good.” The chief nodded, gratified. “I hoped you would be pleased. We have not told him you are here. We were unsure how he would respond.”

“Father, Red Wolf said he was with the soldiers but please know that Loras is not a violent man.” Margaery watched Standing Bear uncertainly, wringing her hands as she did so.

“We shall see soon enough.” The chief shrugged. “Tell me, what does “Loras” mean in English? I do not know the word.”

“It means flower.” Margaery warily glanced at Sansa. “It is a symbol representing our family name, Tyrell.”

Sansa knew that much was true and wondered why Margaery seemed so uncomfortable in saying so.

Standing Bear pondered that for a moment. “That is an unusual designation for a man. Flower is usually the name of women. How did your parents come to it?”

“He is what you would call two-spirited.” Margaery explained. “Like White Buffalo and Eagle Woman.”

Stunned, Sansa’s eyes widened. When she first came among them, Sandor had explained to her what the term meant; it was a favored position among the tribe but it surprised her greatly to learn two women or two men could live as husband and wife.  Though puzzled by such inclinations, Sansa saw no reason to disapprove. It was none of her business what other people did. Sandor and the rest of the village treated White Buffalo and her companion Eagle Woman as a married couple and so Sansa did likewise. But she never expected to meet a white person who had such leanings and learning this about Loras was a surprising revelation. 

“I did not know whites had two spirits living among them.” Standing Bear commented approvingly. “This is good to know. A blessing from Wakan Tanka it is, to have him among us. He is yet another gift that Red Wolf and Healing Needle have brought to our people. He will be wise and more agreeable for certain than the other men.”

“He is not trained as a two spirit, Father.” Margaery warned, cautiously raising her eyes as she did so. “But he shares their appetite for the same gender and indeed is more open minded that most whites. In white culture, though, being two spirited, well, it is frowned upon.”

The chief and White Buffalo exchanged puzzled looks. 

“It matters not, Healing Needle. He is a free person; if he wants such training as a two spirit and Wakan Tanka reveals he is suitable, he will be taught,” Standing Bear quietly replied. “White Buffalo will consider him when the time is right.”

White Buffalo nodded. “I will gladly train him alongside you, Healing Needle.”

“I hope he will accept your generous offer,” Margaery smiled at them. “I would like very much for us to be taught together.”

“It is a great honor. It makes sense to me that he is gifted as a two spirit, especially with you having the spirit of healing,” White Buffalo said. “You have strong medicine in your family, one that I have never experienced, not even among the people. I am very privileged.”

 _Clever girl,_ Sansa smiled to herself. _She’s assuring they will not harm Loras by revealing his privileged status among the people._

"We shall see his nature soon enough," Standing Bear rounded his shoulders. "The men are coming."

“Father, Loras was in the war overseas but he is not a aggressive man," Margaery hurriedly added. "I cannot imagine he would come here with bloodshed in mind.”

“Then Loras should not have come with soldiers,” Standing Bear answered gravely. “It is misleading.”

“The whites believe it too dangerous to come into an Indian village without the protection of the soldiers, Father.” Sansa interjected.

“You speak the truth, Red Wolf. White men make war when they need to be peaceful and they are idle when they should make war,” Standing Bear responded, gently but firmly. “They are not taught to know how to respond appropriately as the seasons change, they are only taught to react. That is why I have told the warriors to be careful with him.”

“I thank you for inviting him in, Father, and for bringing him under your protection.” Margaery bowed low.

“Healing Needle, as your brother, he is blood of my blood,” Standing Bear reached over and squeezed her hand. “Do not fear, daughter.”

“Thank you, Father. You must know that he will ask me to go with him.” Margaery wiped her eyes. "He will offer to take Sansa as well."

The chief nodded understandingly.

“But he means no offense," Margaery tearfully went on. "All whites believe we want to return to them.”

“It is understandable that one would wish to return to their people,” Standing Bear's brows knitted together. “Do you wish to leave Black Water and return across the great grey ocean?”

“No, Father. I love Bronn dearly,” Margaery reassured the chief. “But I miss my family, too. I wish there was a way to keep my brother close.”

Standing Bear took her hands in his own. “He may stay here if he chooses or live nearby on our lands. He will not be disturbed; I will see to it. It is his choice. You may make the invitation, daughter.”

“Thank you, Father,” Margaery began crying in earnest. “That eases my mind greatly.”

“Daughter, you may speak to your brother in English but do not translate anything being said. It is dangerous and may lead to misunderstanding. Red Wolf will translate alone.”

“Yes, Father.”

The sounds of heavy footfall neared the tipi. From the open flap, Sansa saw Sandor stalking toward them, the rage in his gray eyes lending him a singularly dangerous air. A heavy silence fell over the tipi.

Once inside, Loras and the other men were visibly nervous. _As well you should be,_  Sansa whispered to herself as she observed them.

Grunting, Sandor used his arm to nudge them further inside. He looked over each man and then held out his war lance to block their approach until Standing Bear assented. "Neither of you speak English, my sons; only Red Wolf and Healing Needle are permitted in the presence of the soldiers."

Both men agreed.

The major looked around at the assembly and then said: “Let’s get down to the point.”

“Do not speak before the chief does,” the Indian agent leaned over, “you’ll offend him. Just wait.”

Sansa translated the exchange to Standing Bear.

“K’ú chaze oiglaka, čhuŋkší.” _Offer the introductions, daughter_.

A strong wave of fear washed over her, choking her words. Swallowing hard, Sansa felt her eyes burn with tears.

Sandor moved beside her. “You’re safe, wife. I am here.” He held his arm out to her. "They will not take you."

Bowing, Sansa squeezed Sandor’s bicep, drawing on his strength. “Thank you.”

Turning, she drew a deep breath and then addressed the men in English. “Men, you are in the presence of Chief Standing Bear of the Lakota nation.”

The chief gestured for them to sit down but the men remained standing.

Agitated, he pointed to the seating mats. ”Iyotagkhiya.” _Make them sit._

“You are his guests. Please be seated.”

Cautiously the men did as they were told while Sandor gravely guarded them.

“You will not take my wife,” he hissed in Lakota. "I will kill you and feed you to her sisters if you try."

It gave Sansa a perverse sense of satisfaction to hear her husband threaten the soldiers even when he knew they could not understand him just to make her feel safe.

The soldiers glanced between one another but Sansa noticed Loras only had eyes for Margaery.

“We have met the soldiers. We will address the matter of our family and then the soldiers will have their say,” Standing Bear ordered calmly. “Daughter, tell them. Family comes first.”

“Standing Bear says that family is first," Sansa translated. "He has already met the soldiers and so he will allow Loras and Margaery to speak together and then we will address your matters.”

Rolling his eyes, the major reluctantly agreed. "Fine, get on with it. We haven't got all day."

Sansa translated the major's words but the chief stoically schooled his expression.

At Standing Bear's motioning, Many Moons offered a tray of fry bread and chamomile tea; when the men eyed it suspiciously, she placed it in front of them and returned to her place beside the chief.

Looking between the white soldiers, Loras reached forward and took a cup of tea. “How do you say ‘thank you’?”

“Pilámaya,” Sansa sounded out the syllables slowly.

“Peel-a-may-a,” Loras struggled out, addressing the chief, to which Margaery and Sansa smiled and nodded eagerly.

Gruffly Standing Bear waved his hand. Sandor gently touched Sansa’s arm, urging her to continue.

She directed her next words to Loras. “Please step forward and introduce yourself to the chief.”

“I am Loras Tyrell, the brother of Margaery, Chief Standing Bear,” Loras barely managed as he stood gaping at Margaery. “I was a soldier in my home country but I only came here to find my sister. I don’t want trouble.”

Sansa turned and repeated his words to the chief in Lakota.

Standing Bear nodded at once. “Tell him I am honored to meet him and that I have treated his sister as my own daughter. He is welcome here and does not need to come with soldiers.”

“The chief is very pleased to meet the brother of Healing Needle, which is the name Margaery is known by among the people,” Sansa shyly smiled. “The chief assures you that he has treated Margaery as though she were his own daughter. He says you are welcome here and to visit her any time you wish. You need not come with soldiers.”

Cautiously the young man offered a small smile. “Peel-a-may-a.”

Margaery smiled broadly, bouncing on her heels as she did so.

Standing Bear held out his hands. “Come forward and embrace your sister.”

Sansa gently placed her hand on Sandor’s wrist as she translated. “You may greet her, Loras.” 

Reluctantly Sandor stepped aside as Loras eagerly moved to embrace Margaery.

“Loras! I can’t believe you found me!” She laughed happily in his arms. “I have missed you so!”

“Marg, oh my god, I thought I’d never see you again.” Blushing, his eyes fell to her swollen belly. “Are you…alright?”

“Oh yes, never better,” Margaery wrapped her arms around him. “I’ve been well cared for here and so has Sansa, as you can see.”

Confused, Loras and the soldiers turned toward her and then glanced between themselves. “But you are both-“

“Brother, it is true that Sansa is with child, as am I,” Margaery stared into her brother’s eyes as she spoke, resting her hand over his heart to reassure him. “We married the two warriors who found us on the plains after the Pawnee attacked our wagon train.”

“Married, you say?” The major snorted derisively. “Raped, more like.”

"No!" Sansa shook her head. "That is not true."

He rolled his eyes in response.

Sandor balled his fists but the chief shook his head.

Sputtering, Loras whirled around and stared accusingly at Bronn and Sandor. “Don’t protect them, Sansa! The soldiers told me how things are! Who got you with child? Which one of these-“

“Loras, I beg you not to finish that sentence,” Margaery placed her fingers over his mouth. “Listen carefully to me: neither Sansa nor I were raped. Our children were conceived in love.” Stepping forward, she rested her hand on Bronn and Sandor. “These are the two men who rescued us from the Pawnee; they are the chief's sons. We fell in love with them. We went with them lawfully and willingly."

Next Margaery rested her hands on her brother’s shoulders. “They saved our lives. You should be most grateful to them, for without their care, Sansa and I would have most certainly died.”

The major laughed out loud at this, much to the surprise of the chief and White Buffalo.

“Is he ill?” She asked Sansa. "Has his mind left him?"

“No, the soldier is making fun," Sansa indignantly answered. "He does not believe we married willingly. Loras is having a hard time deciding whether to believe Margaery because of the lies they have told him.”

White Buffalo arched her brow and nodded once, then repeated Sansa’s words to the chief.

Anger settled on his face, but Standing Bear offered no response.

"Don't you dare mock my sister again," Loras struggled to calm himself as he addressed the major.

"Loras, please-"

“It’s just so hard to take in all of this, Margaery…the soldiers told me all kinds of things, you know. It just doesn’t set well. I don’t know what to think.”

“I know it is difficult for you, after all you have heard back home and undoubtedly from these men as well,” Sansa stepped forward. “But your sister speaks truly. Both of us have been treated honorably. We went with the Lakota men and willingly became their wives.”

She reached out and took Sandor by the hand, and the man gently brushed the side of her face with his finger in response. Smiling at him, Sansa continued: “They have cared for us, fed and clothed us and made sure our wounds were cared for after the Pawnee killed everyone in the wagon train.”

“But-“ Loras glanced between Margaery and Sansa and then Sandor. “How can it be? Everyone back home knows what they do to women. I don’t hold you accountable. I won't tell anyone. We can start over in a town that don't know us."

"We will not leave our husbands." Margaery stated firmly. 

"I will not go with you either." Sansa answered, wanting Loras to hear her refusal out of her own mouth. 

"Sis, Sansa," Loras entreated them, "It's only natural you are afraid-“

“Girls, just listen to reason.” The major ordered. "We know what's best for you."

“Shut the hell up, will you?” The Indian agent snarled. "The chief will have his braves kill us all."

“I'd like to see them try."

Gripping his knife handle, Bronn paled at the major's words.

"It's your job to control these savages, not defend them." The major angrily snapped back.

Swallowing hard, Sansa glanced at Sandor, whose eyes glittered with hatred. Abruptly he moved behind Sansa, draping his war lance across her swollen belly.

“She is mine!  She carries our child. I would never hurt her.”

Tearfully Sansa translated his words.

Incredulously Loras looked them over. "Truly?"

Margaery eagerly nodded. “It’s the same with Bronn and me. I love him. These men know nothing of the ways of the Lakota. Now stop with this foolishness. Listen to me and Sansa instead of these men!”

Shaking in fury, Sandor stepped forward and raised his war lance, pushing Loras backward. Sansa hurriedly moved behind her husband.

“Your brother and the soldiers will not argue in the tipi of the chief with his daughter; tell him.” Sandor growled out in Lakota.

“You must not debate this in the tipi of the chief,” Sansa said, “it is rude to contradict us in his home. For the last time, we were not raped. We are married to these fine warriors and we are carrying their children.”

“She’s addled from all the outrage,” the major casually commented. “The women are merely scared. Don’t listen to them. No white woman agrees to marry these varmints. These Indians don’t care if they have permission to pluck ‘em.”

Margaery glared at the major and Indian agent. “Stop filling my brother’s head with your lies!”

“You will not upset my wife,” Bronn said in Lakota. “She is in a delicate condition, one that requires calmness. If you upset her again, I will cut out your tongues.” His voice was quiet but dripping with menace.

“You speak well, son,” the chief agreed. “Your wife needs consideration, as does Red Wolf. Sandor, tolerate no more words that upset Red Wolf and Healing Needle.”

Sansa hurriedly translated his words to the white men. “The chief has given Three Hounds permission to cut out the tongue of the next man who upsets Margaery and I, so I suggest you three choose your words and behavior accordingly.”

Gritting his teeth, Loras glowered at Bronn as his eyes followed Margaery. Bronn reached out and held out his hand to his wife, who gently accepted.

“He the one who stole you?”

“He did _not_ steal me.” Margaery insisted. “I willfully took him as my husband.” She took her husband’s hand in her own and pressed it to her breast while Bronn looked on calmly.

“Loras, meet your brother in law, Bronn Black Water.” She gestured toward Bronn, who bowed to Loras in response.

Many Moons passed a large bundle to Bronn, who then handed Loras the large buffalo robe.

“Ciyewaye ki.” _My brother_.  Bronn bowed once more. Sansa could see it was with great difficulty that Bronn kept a passive expression on his face as she translated to Loras, who offered a guarded smile and his hand.

Gently Margaery turned to Bronn and placed her hand on his arm as she spoke to him in Lakota. “Black Water, this is my brother, Loras. Shaking hands is our customary greeting.”

Bronn accepted at once, shaking the young man’s hand vigorously.

“Hell fire, there was no will about it with these women, damn it!” The major raised his voice and stepped toward Bronn. “Your sister and the other one had no choice, believe that! I will see to it these men are punished and the village-”  

“You are _wrong_ ,” Margaery interrupted. “And you will do no such thing.”

Sandor placed his knife at the man’s throat. “No more words; only blood.”

“Three Hounds says if you speak again, he will kill you.” Sansa calmly translated.

Loras eyed them uncertainly while Margaery held on to her brother. “Loras, I love him. Sansa loves her husband as well. Please believe us.”

Drawing a deep breath, the young man nodded. “Have it your way, sis. I’ll not interfere.” Calmly he returned to his seat. "I would be the last one to make you unhappy, you know that."

“How did you find Healing Needle?” Standing Bear asked.

“The chief asks how you found Margaery.”

“When news reached Boston that a wagon train was set upon by the Indians in the Dakota Territory, I went to the Starks to see if they had any word. When I couldn’t find any of Sansa’s kin, a man I met in a saloon-Meryn was his name-said he knew Sansa and that she was engaged to the wealthiest man in town and then took me to meet Joffrey Baratheon." Loras cast a short glance at Sansa. "The lad paid me to come out here and see if she lived.”

Scowling, Sandor moved in front of her. “Well, now you see that she lives, though not because of him.”

Margaery nervously glanced at Sandor. “Joffrey did all that?” 

“The man said he wouldn’t let a girl as rich as Sansa get away without a fight and if you were part of the bargain, he was okay with it. He wrote a letter to the army. He’s already got another chippy back home, though.” Loras took off his hat and bowed to Sansa. “Sorry, ma’am.”

Sansa politely dipped her head in acknowledgement; it was a fine line Margaery was walking, asking about Joffrey in front of Sandor.

"Another woman?" Sandor shouted in Lakota. "He is not loyal even as he seeks her?" Bronn likewise grew furious,  throwing his knife into the dirt in his anger.

As agitated as both men were, it would take very little encouragement for Sandor and Bronn to kill the soldiers who brought Loras.

Sansa squeezed his arm once more and so he settled behind her, resting his hands on her belly.

“If he has another woman, why did he bother paying you all to find us?” Margaery swallowed hard, her fear apparent as she watched Sandor and Sansa closely.

“Ma’am, when he arrived at Camp Robinson, Joffrey said he didn’t want it said he’d let a red man steal his property without a fight.” The Indian agent anxiously played with the brim of his hat. “The dandy paid the soldiers and bought horses and equipment to find her.” He gestured toward Sansa. “He’s financed this whole affair.  We’ve been after you ladies for four months now. We was just about to send word back to the fort that we found you.”

“Joffrey’s at the fort?” Sansa choked out as she began shaking uncontrollably. She hugged her arms tightly.

"Yes, ma'am." The Indian agent cautiously backed away from them. The major followed suit.

Sandor wrapped his arms around Sansa. “Easy, wife. You are safe.” He whispered into her ear, his gentle behavior toward his wife catching the attention of the white men. Loras moved out of the way.

“What is it?” Standing Bear rose to his feet. “What is wrong, Red Wolf? Did they threaten you?”

Sansa shook her head and folded her hands in her lap.

Bronn translated Loras’ words, after which he added, ”She is afraid because the man Joffrey abused her; so did the one called Meryn. Did Sandor tell you?”

“Red Wolf told me all about him and what he did,” the chief angrily growled, his eyes resting on Sansa's hands. “Take the women out of here at once.”

Bowing, Running Fox carefully led Margaery and Sansa out of the tip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Being two-spirited in the Lakota nation (and within the language) refers specifically to gay men or bisexual men and women; it has no reference to lesbians or trans people, though they could be of those identities as well. Wintke is the word that refers to trans people, not two spirit. Because there is no prejudice or shame involved, the people in language feel no need to designate words expressing the difference.  
> The Lakota have four genders, which are roughly translated: feminine woman, masculine man, masculine woman, feminine man. None were considered derogatory and the Lakota see no need to differentiate between men and women two spirits because of the holy nature of the designation.  
> Two spirits were considered gifted among all beings because they carried two spirits, that of male and female. It is told that women engaged in tribal warfare and married other women, as there were men who married other men. These individuals were looked upon as a third and fourth gender in many cases and in almost all cultures they were honoured and revered. Two-spirit people were the visionaries, the healers, the medicine people, the nannies of orphans, the care givers and special role players in the Sun Dance. They were respected as fundamental components of the tribe and a source of good luck.  
> Traditionally they were identified as such during their naming ceremonies, so being two spirited is a designation given by the medicine man or woman, not one taken upon oneself. Cross dressing of two-spirit people was not always an indicator of gender identity. The mere fact that a person wears clothing traditionally of the opposite sex does not say something about his role behavior, his gender status, or even his choice of partner.  
> Since there were many responsibilities involved, they were usually received special instruction by the medicine man or woman and took their role in the tribe very seriously.
> 
> The term dandy in the 1800's West referred to a man who was fashionable, expensively dressed and stood out, not a gay man.


	27. The Revealing

Sandor didn’t trust the men. They had come to take Sansa from him; the rest of their words did not matter to him. He was tired of looking at them; the sooner they were gone, the better.

The soldier who called himself a major was bald and red faced and spat when he spoke. His small weasel eyes had followed Sansa in a lewd manner as she walked away. He shamed her, and no matter what else happened, the man’s brazenness would cost him dearly. Sandor decided he would take the man’s eyes and give them to Sansa as reparation for his impudence.

“He will certainly harm Sansa and Margaery if given the chance.” Bronn hissed in Lakota. “I saw how he looked at them.“

“He will _not_ get the chance to hurt either of them,” Standing Bear interrupted. “Both of you, remain calm.  Your anger will give you away even if your words do not. They may not understand Lakota but they will recognize your mood.”

Drawing a deep breath, Sandor followed Bronn’s gaze over to the younger man, the one who claimed he was an Indian agent. Red haired and tall and broadly built, he was really just out of boyhood. He looked awkward in his buck skin breeches and coat and he carried a large knife on his hip; Sandor was certain he did not know how to use it for anything other than skinning a rabbit.

“What does an Indian agent do with the people?”  Bronn asked his father quietly, guarding his manner so as not to alarm the white men. “Why would the whites send him to us?”

“Agent is a name without meaning, so your mother warned me years ago, a way to trick us into lowering our guard.” The chief answered in a similarly bland tone. “We will ask him more when Red Wolf and Healing Needle return.”

“The boy is very nervous and fidgety and doesn’t seem to trust the other men. Perhaps he is not as senseless as the rest.” Sandor commented mildly, though he felt anything but calm.

“During the time of my grandfather’s great grandfather, word spread from the great grey ocean’s edge clear to the prairie of the way the first whites treated the people, and thus all know they are not to be trusted. This youth is wiser than those who came before him.” Standing Bear calmly replied.

Scowling, Sandor felt his insides twist with renewed hatred. “It will not work, this deception of the whites. Neither the Lakota nor any of the other tribes are inclined to believe the words of the whites; even our enemies agree on this. We will be cautious.”

“Watch your tone, my son.” Standing Bear reprimanded, “And settle the bear in your eyes and demeanor.”

Glancing over at them, it was clear the men in question were visibly made uncomfortable by Sandor’s close scrutiny.

“I am not convinced it is Three Hounds that makes them nervous. They mean deception, Father.” Bronn muttered.

“What makes you certain?” Standing Bear asked.

“An honest man does not fear the eyes of others upon him,” Bronn explained. “They have told us lies and that is why they squirm.”

“Black Water’s words are good. We need to observe the men more carefully yet not arouse suspicion to know for sure.” Standing Bear stated.

“Father, let us smoke the pipe,” Sandor suggested, “Sansa said that if the men relax, they are more likely to speak freely.”

Bronn and Standing Bear agreed.

Meticulously Bronn prepared the tobacco and stuffed it into the pipe, then lit it and handed it to the chief. As they leisurely smoked, they noticed the white men slowly lowered their guard.

“What are they doing? Why did they send the women out?” The army officer growled impatiently, stomping his foot on the ground. “We need them to speak for us. Can’t you do something?”

Warily the Indian agent shook his head. “I don’t rightly know why they sent them away but they seem calm enough.” Edward watched them closely while Sandor, Bronn and Standing Bear smoked and spoke quietly among themselves. “It seems the chief wanted to talk to his sons in private for a bit. Seems we should do likewise.”

“Talk about what, you fool? We didn’t come here to parlay with these savages or listen to them gibber jabber.” The major spat out a wad of tobacco after he spoke. “We came for the women and to collect our money. That Baratheon brat and his man are waiting on us; they’re bound to have made it to the river by now.”

 _So Joffrey and Meryn were at the edge of the river, waiting,_ Sandor fought back a wicked grin. _Wakan Tanka has delivered them into my hand._

Bronn exhaled a long line of smoke in their direction. “Little bird was right. They are talking openly now.”

Standing Bear nodded. Their father had been wise to arrange for Sansa and Margaery to teach them to make the English words. Ever the clever little bird, Sansa knew the men would use such a tactic. She had protected the tribe in warning them, for now Sandor and his brother would not be fooled by the white men’s slippery speech.

Even the slanting manner the men spoke did not confuse Sandor; he had no difficulty identifying their words or understanding their meaning. Judging by Bronn’s darkened expression, his brother also comprehended them.

“I know two who will not return to their homes.” Bronn snarled out.

“Stand at the ready, like the wolf.” Standing Bear ordered.

With great difficulty Sandor trained his expression into one of disinterest.

Bronn quickly followed suit, casually blowing smoke rings into the air and looking off into the distance.

“You brought me here to help you with the Indians, so just sit tight and do as I say or you’ll get us all killed.” The Indian agent was saying. “First thing you gotta recognize is that formality is important to them.”

“Fuck their formality! I brought you here because Joffrey insisted on it so it wouldn’t raise suspicion with the army or some such nonsense, not to advise me on what course to take with them,” the major raised on his heels. “The politicians back east don’t care what happens out here. The fat bastards back at the fort don’t know what to do with them.” He shook his head. “There’s only one way to deal with these savages. We could have had this over and done already with the cavalry on our side but that little blonde shit wouldn’t have it. I never should have listened to that dandy. We could be enjoying the women right now instead of listening to them jawing away.”

Standing Bear blew out a lone smoke ring and then handed the pipe to Sandor. “Ma otúkiȟ’aŋ,” he said solemnly. “Kte ozuye, Yamni Sunka.” _I make them a gift to you, Three Hounds. Kill the soldiers_.

“Now what are they saying?” The major demanded.

Nodding once, Sandor inhaled deeply and then puffed a thin line of ringlets. “Pilámaya, Ate. Ma kte ozuye ektá wakpá.”  _Thank you, Father. I will kill the soldiers at the river’s edge._

“Hell if I know.”

“Hey,” the major turned toward them. “You there. When can we finish this? You bringing the women back or not?”

Bronn and Sandor shared a bewildered look.

“These men don’t understand you, sir,” Edward shook his head. “They’ll bring the women back when they are ready.”

 “Well when will that be?!”

Edward shrugged. “Might be they already have seen Joffrey and Meryn in the party and aren’t keen on being lied to by you about them. Might be they are trying to decide what to do.”

Bronn, Standing Bear and Sandor remained impassive.

The major hastily looked them over. “How would they know, pray tell?”

“They have scouts, same as you,” the man Sansa introduced as Edward Smith rolled his eyes. “Joffrey’s hair stands out like the sun out here in the dark woods. A decent scout would spot him from miles away.”

“Damnation, we didn’t see any Sioux scouts on the way into the pass.”

“Well that’s generally the idea, sir.” Edward said, clearly exasperated. “They see you but you don’t see them. No wonder you need me here.”

Pursing his lips, the major mulled this over. “The redhead recognized Meryn quick enough. If that girl tells her husband how they done her, that big bastard of her’n will make war.”

“They might not if you would just hush up and act respectful like.”

“Who’re you tryin’ to convince, me or yourself?” The major laughed haughtily. “They’re gonna made war regardless, the brutes. Can’t trust no Sioux or Pawnee or any of the rest."

Standing Bear placed a hand on each of his son’s shoulders. “Au wíŋyaŋ.” _Bring the women now._

“Great, more jibberish,” the major rolled his eyes.

Sandor started out of the tipi when his brother pressed his hand to his chest.

"Ma winyan.” _I will bring them._   Bronn offered quietly.

“Go then. Keep them safe,” Sandor relented.

* * *

Behind her she faintly heard Margaery speaking to her brother. Thinking it best to give them a few moments alone, Sansa installed herself in front of the flap. Staring at Standing Bear’s meeting lodge, her anxiety grew with each passing moment. The shadow of Sandor’s huge form was clearly visible moving in front of the walls of the tipi. _What is upsetting him?_

Fatherhood had brought out the spirit of the bear in her ferocious husband. Not since the day he saved her from the Pawnee had Sansa seen him in such a state. Though his rage was not directed at her, Sandor’s ferocity frightened her still. His anger veritably radiated off of him, permeating the tipi with the threat of impending violence. She wondered what was happening inside the chief’s lodge.

Margaery’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “Sansa, please, come and join us,” she waved her toward the sitting mats. “You are my guest here. I imagine Loras has a few questions for us-that is, if you don’t mind.”

“Forgive my rudeness, I didn’t mean to ignore you,” she replied as she arranged her skirts. “I am merely distracted by everything going on.” Sansa folded her legs beneath her and waited. “I would be happy to answer any manner of question you may have, sir.”

Curiously Loras stared at her, the young man seemingly deep in thought. “Thank you, ma’am.”

Swallowing hard, Sansa attempted a smile, hoping it would mask the nervousness welling within her.

“May I speak frankly, Mrs. Sansa?”

“Yes. Please, just call me Sansa.”

He smiled at her. Sansa could see how very good looking he was then. “Will you let me speak freely too, sis?”

“Yes, of course.” Margaery answered. “Honestly Loras, just get on with it.”

“I just can’t figure the two of you,” he shook his head as he looked between them. “How you both just decided you want to stay here and live among these Indians and give up on all respectable society is beyond me.”

There was no judgment in his tone, as far as Sansa could tell; the young man seemed genuinely puzzled. It was a similar wonderment she experienced upon discovering Margaery had lain with Bronn on the first night in the camp.

“Loras!” Margaery hissed. “You of all people should know better than to question people who choose a different way of life. Look how the people mistreat you and Renly.” She turned to Sansa. “I’m sorry he offended you Sweetie, I-“

Cowed, Loras shamefully lowered his eyes.

“No…no I am not offended. I think his question is a reasonable one,” she placed her hand on Margaery’s arm. “It is a question _anyone_ would ask, truthfully, especially after all the terrible things said about the Indians.” Sansa drew a deep breath. “I think its best that you go first, Margaery. Tell your brother how you feel.”

Looking down, Margaery played with the fringe on her garment. “Loras, you know as well as I do that once people learned Sansa and I had been taken by Indians, we would never be able to live as we once did. I had no way of knowing you two would come looking for me, or that you would even have heard about us being taken. I had to make the best of things, make a new life for myself.”

“And what of you, Sansa?” Loras stared at her, clearly struggling to comprehend his sister’s words. “Your family is wealthy, do you think it would be the same?”

Sansa nodded in agreement. “It’s true, the Starks have money, but most of them are gone. And money won’t give me love or children or my family back. Money can’t keep me safe. I have no one to return to, nor do I wish to leave my husband or the people.”

“Loras, in her old life, Sansa is wealthy, but she would be thrown over by Joffrey the moment she returned. And the people would be no better to her.”

Clenching his fists, Loras narrowed his eyes at her.

“As for me, well, we both know that with my reputation for enjoying men and liquor, I’d painted as the worst of harlots.”

“Damn it, Margie, none of that matters! The people who know you wouldn’t believe it-“

“Oh yes, they would! A juicy piece of gossip like that? They would be the worst of all!” Margaery leapt to her feet. “They already think me a loose woman! Everyone says I’m going to hell anyway because I love to dance and I love men-what do you think they would say now that I’ve lain with an Indian?”

"It doesn’t matter what those small minded people think, Margie!” Loras angrily stood up, though he softened his tone as he spoke. “We could move to California or Colorado or Mexico and start over where no one knows us.” He knelt and took her hands in his own. “I could take you from here. Renly is waiting back at the fort with our things packed and ready to go.” He turned to Sansa. “And you, too. I’ll not leave such a good friend of my sister to stay where she doesn’t want.”

Stunned, Sansa looked between the two, and suddenly a deep longing for her brother Robb returned to her. He certainly would have opposed her marriage to Sandor, though he had married for love himself.

“Thank you, Loras, but I cannot accept,” she managed after a moment. “I love Sandor Three Hounds.”

Confused, he turned to his sister.

Margaery wiped her eyes. “You are so sweet, Lorrie. I am grateful to you and Renly for the offer; truly I am. But I have grown right fond of the people in the village. I love Bronn and his family, too.”

“But can you honestly say this is what you want?” Loras shook his head as he waved his arms around the tipi. “Rawhide and buffalo robes? You’ve always dreamt of marrying rich and having a fine home and wearing fancy clothes…”

“To be perfectly honest, you are right, Loras: this isn’t what I would have wanted a few months ago. But it is what I want now.” Margaery rested her hand on his shoulder. “I have grown. I have changed; what used to seem important doesn’t matter much now.”

He said nothing.

"Besides, it isn’t just the gossip. What kind of life do you think awaits me and Sansa back in Illinois?”

A deep sinking dread filled Sansa’s stomach. “Excuse me, Margaery, Loras,” she stood up. “Perhaps you would like to finish this conversation in private.”

“No, Sansa, please stay.” Loras helped her sit down once more.

“Yes, Sansa, stay. He needs to hear this,” Margaery went on. “Loras, Sansa and I would have no choice but to become sporting women and you know it. No respectable people, as you call them, would have anything to do with us. We couldn’t go to the general store, or to church or the socials-there is no place for us now.” She dusted her hands off, as though the very mention of such people sullied her.  “Why should we be expected to even want to return to a life like that? And why would you want to live among them when they are so hateful to you and Renly?”

“But Sansa’s family…” He said weakly.

“Is dead or gone,” Sansa finished for him. “And no one back home would ever love me for me; only for my claim.”

Loras lowered his eyes. “I can’t deny that, Sansa, but I’m sure sorry for it.” He whispered.

She gave him a small sad smile.

“But here, Loras, here no one judges us.” Margaery went on. "No one would judge you, either. When I told the chief of your companionship with Renly, he regarded you as a great blessing to our family."

"Really?" Loras stuttered out.

Squeezing his arm, Sansa nodded emphatically to reassure him.

“Bronn is good to me and I’ve become very fond of him. He respects me, he listens to me. He’s proud of me learning to become a medicine woman, he’s taught me the language and does all he can to encourage me. He thinks I’m smart and funny. I-I’ve never had that before.” Margaery swallowed hard. “I wish to stay with him and the tribe. I want you to promise you won’t interfere.”

“Tell me truly, Margie: do you love him?” Loras stared into her eyes. “If you tell me you love him, I’ll drop it all this moment and welcome him as my brother in law.”

“I do love him, Lorie.” Margaery cupped his face in her hands and looked him squarely in the eyes. “Maybe not in the way you love Renly, in that _love at first sight_ kind of way, but I love him just the same. I’m his wife and the mother of his children. I want to make him happy, give him family as he has given me. And I also want to stay here so I can serve the people, do some good if I can. They have given me so much. Can’t you understand that?”

Loras ran his hands back through his curly hair several times before raising his eyes to her. “I can, Margie. It’ll take a bit of time, but I’ll get there. You won’t hear no more talk of you leaving here from me.” Quietly he embraced her. “But I’m sure gonna miss you.”

“It doesn’t have to be that way.” Margaery began to cry.

“I’m afraid it does.” Loras bit his lip as he rubbed her shoulders.

“No, it doesn’t,” she went on, “Listen to me: the chief said you could live on Lakota lands for as long as you wish. You are his family now. No one, white or Indian, will bother you. You are under his protection.”

“Well, I don’t know sis, it’s a lot to consider-“

Margaery excitedly took his hands. “Say you will accept, Lorie; please? You and Renly could set up a homestead anywhere you like, from the plains to the Black Hills, and make a life for yourselves. No one will mistreat you or judge you. You will be welcome among the people. They will share game and hides with you. Then we won’t have to say goodbye, and you can see your niece and nephew any time you like!  If you don’t like it, you can leave anytime you want.”

“Well, it is good land, and it’s a very generous offer,” Loras drew a deep breath. “I’d like to stay close to you. Let me speak to Renly after this is over, and if he’s agreeable, we’ll stay.”

Happily Margaery leapt into his arms, hugging him close and laughing.

“Margaery, Bronn’s coming and he doesn’t look too happy,” Sansa interrupted. With his long stride, it was only a few moments before he entered the tipi.

“How are you, brother?” Bronn asked cautiously. Sansa could tell he was very emotional because he was having trouble finding the English words.  “Is everything good between you and Margaery?”

“Why, I didn’t know you spoke English! Yes, yes everything is fine, brother,” Loras then shook Bronn’s hand heartily, much to his surprise.

“Good.” Relieved, Bronn smiled at Loras and then Margaery. “You stay here, please; you will be safe.” He turned to the women. “Come, both of you. The chief is ready.”

Loras stood. “I can help. I can fight, if need be.”

“No,” Bronn shook his head. “You might get hurt. If there is a fight, someone might mistake you for a white soldier. You must stay here. In my tipi, you are under my protection. I will keep Margaery safe.”

"What has happened?" Sansa asked.

"It is just as you said," Bronn affectionately tweaked her chin lightly. "The men revealed their true thoughts. Come."

Nodding, Sansa swallowed hard. The howling of the wolves grew louder as they moved outside.

“It will be okay, Loras,” Margaery squeezed Loras' hand. “Trust me. Stay here.”

Anxiously Loras nodded, his eyes following Margaery and Sansa as Bronn led them to the chief’s lodge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can see, I chose not to translate most of this chapter's dialogue between Bronn, Standing Bear, and Sandor from Lakota to English. This is because I felt it would be too confusing, and a direct translation, while conveying the general idea, would be somewhat confusing to non Lakota speaking readers. 
> 
> For a man to stare lustfully at a married Lakota woman was tantamount to physically touching her. Her husband or a male relative had the right to kill him (or more mercifully, let him live but bore out his eyes); the decision on how to proceed was up to her. If she had no male relative, the strongest warrior in camp would do it.
> 
> This chapter was written in response to those who wanted to see things from Margaery's perspective. This is the calm before the storm lol
> 
> Much about the way whites behave was considered suspicious, rude and an indication of deception which is at least in part what contributed to many misunderstandings between them. Also, by the mid 1800's, word of the way the English and French treated the Indians along the Eastern seaboard had reached the prairie tribes and so mistrust was deeply seated in the native peoples. And during the Civil War, the way the soldiers were left dead or dying for the animals was widely circulated among all of the tribes; it was considered the ultimate proof of white barbarity, that they would leave their soldiers to such a fate, and this all but sealed their bad, untrustworthy, godless reputation among the Indian nations.


	28. Three Hounds and Grandfather Are in the Woods

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks to everyone for your patience in waiting for this update. :D 
> 
> This chapter contains graphic violence common to the way Native Americans made war. It is faithful to the true experience of Native Americans, and indeed, all mankind. It is not pleasant but it is honest and it would be disingenuous not to feature it in a story with this a/u.
> 
> I have placed an asterisk next to the paragraphs so that those who wish to avoid it can do so and still read the rest of the fic. I also use the word "rape" but only in reference to the threats of the white men in previous chapters. If you think any more warnings are warranted, please don't hesitate to contact me and I will gladly amend my story. I do not need a reason to comply so please be assured it will not trigger an argument nor require an explanation. Your comfort comes first.
> 
> Please see the end of the chapter for more notes.

* * *

Bronn gravely settled his eyes on Margaery and Sansa when they stepped out of the tent. He was furious, she could tell from the obvious force with which he clutched his war lance. Shivering, she took her place behind the couple.

He then turned to face her, but before Bronn spoke, Margaery reached out to him, clutching his arms.

"Bronny, what is it? You must tell me. I cannot stand waiting one more minute!"

"Quiet down," Bronn softly admonished. His face was a mask of calmness; his eyes, however, revealed the deep, simmering rage within the man. "Wife, you and Sansa must act as you always do. Say you will."

The women readily agreed.

"Now I will tell it to you both but you must be still."

Impulsively Margaery took his hand in hers and kissed him. "We will. Please, go on."

"First I will say this to you, my wife," Bronn kissed her hand in return, though his eyes remained forbidding. "Your words to the white men filled my heart."

Blushing, Margaery smiled at him and Bronn stared into her eyes as he stroked her cheek tenderly. Suddenly remembering himself, he removed his hand and cleared his throat:

"We will walk and talk at the same time. We must not keep Father waiting. Now you both keep the natural expression of your face while I speak. The white men might see you. You must not react in any way."

Margaery and Sansa both eagerly nodded their assent.

Bronn turned to Sansa. "You were right, Little Bird. The white men revealed their true intentions once you and Margaery left the tipi."

"I feared as much. What did they say after we left?" Without thinking, Sansa gripped his forearm anxiously, then withdrew when she called to mind his admonishment. "Please, tell me. I can bear it."

"The soldiers came to steal and rape you both - the men admitted it openly. Joffrey intends to tell Sansa that he will not wed now that she has been violated by an Indian purposefully in front of his men and then give her to them to shame her," Bronn's voice quivered with fury. "He believes it will preserve his honor, though I do not understand how whites could view it that way."

"If I am spoiled by other men, then he is freed of his promise to wed me." Sansa answered.

"A man who does not value his promise is a coward. One who shames a woman for being outraged deserves a coward's death." Bronn gripped his war lance so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

Grasping the magnitude of Bronn's anger led Sansa to imagine Sandor's reaction at hearing the white men's words, and she shivered violently at the thought. Having to listen as the men openly discussed their vile intentions for his family without reacting must have taken every ounce of Sandor's strength. _His rage must be of the sort that makes even his spirit animal seem tame by comparison to him now, my poor dear husband. The white men have no idea the fury they have unleashed with their words._

Shivering once again, Sansa pursed her lips together. "And how is Sandor now?"

"How do you _think_ he is?" Bronn let a small grin come onto his lips. "A late denning bear with her cubs is not half as fearsome as Three Hounds at this moment."

Lady loped up then, with fresh blood staining her pristine fur. Frowning, Sansa bent down to wipe her face off but the wolf wriggled away and walked in between Sansa and Bronn as they made their way to the tipi.

"What were the exact words of the major?" Sansa swallowed nervously, dreading his next words.

"The soldier said 'there's only one way to deal with these savages. We could have had this over and done already with the cavalry on our side. We could be enjoying the women by now,'" he reached his hands out to steady her. "Joffrey is coming with Meryn to the river soon. He said that if Sansa's husband knew what the men had planned, he would make war." Bronn stared at her levelly. "Sansa, the entire tribe will make war on them for even giving such words a voice."

Weakly she nodded. "Please, tell me all of it."

"The soldiers were paid to take you both and you are to be given to them in return." His face flushed angrily. "At least, that is their plan."

"Oh no," Sansa swallowed hard, momentarily panicking. "Oh good gods…"

Hackles raised, Lady began to growl.

"You are in no danger. Father gave them to Three Hounds, Little Bird. There will be bloodshed for their deception." Bronn reassured her by resting his hand on her shoulder.

Drawing a deep breath Sansa nodded and then reached down and patted Lady.

"What did the chief say about Loras?" Margaery asked as she stared at Sansa, her voice trembling. "What will become of him?"

"Father has welcomed him and his two spirited partner into our lands so that they may be close to you and our child. As for the agent, he may let him go or he may not."

"What did the Indian agent know of it?"

"The agent knew nothing of their ideas and tried to get the soldier to be quiet. He was made to come by Joffrey for a reason I don't understand." Bronn leaned in to her. "He seemed honest."

"It is not his fault." Margaery quietly murmured under her breath.

Noticing Sansa's similarly crestfallen expression, Bronn tipped her face up to him. "It is as much his fault as the others. You both remember it well. If it was my decision, _I_ would not let him go. To be assured of your safety, he must be dealt with severely. Father knows well that Sandor and I are in agreement on this. And any man who keeps such company and does not take his leave deserves to suffer punishment with them."

With a quivering smile, Sansa reached out and squeezed Bronn's arm. "You are right, my brother, and you honor us. I would expect no less from you and Three Hounds."

His mouth curled into a grin and opened the flap of the tipi. "Now you both must stay silent unless Father wishes you to talk." Bronn whispered in Lakota. "The soldiers do not know we understood them. Turning to Sansa, he offered her his hand. "Come now, Little Bird. Let us go to Three Hounds." His mouth quirked into a small smile, reassuring her.

Her brother in law's nickname recalled the woman she was when she arrived at the tribe – a frightened, abused woman on the run from the Lannisters - and of the woman Sansa had become, simultaneously infusing her with courage and chasing away the fear she felt.

 _I am Sansa Stark, Red Wolf and Little Bird, the wife of Sandor Three Hounds, daughter of the great Lakota Chief Standing Bear, and I will not be afraid of Joffrey or his men any longer,_ she told herself as she allowed him to lead her into the tipi.

Sansa felt her eyes well up with tears as she met Sandor's gaze, which softened slightly as he looked at her. Lady pushed her way toward him and then curled up at his feet, woofing softly at the men as she did so.

"My husband, my father," she bowed to them. "You honor me."

"My daughter," the chief gestured for her to rise.

"Mahasani. _My other skin._ " Sandor reached out to her and moved her to his side.

Hurriedly Sansa choked down her apprehension as she took his arm.

While Margaery gave her greetings, Sansa's thoughts turned inward once more. She had a duty to her people, her husband and her chief; she would see it through with dignity in the same manner as her lady mother had done to the Stark family.

Gun-In-The-Water and Black Elk entered behind them. "My chief," each man greeted and bowed.

"Why are you not with the white soldiers? And what is that noise I hear?" Sandor asked shortly.

Sansa strained her ears but only picked up faint, indistinct noises in the distance.

"I hear growling," Chief Standing Bear frowned. "It is an animal but one that is not out at this time."

"There is trouble down in the gully." Black Elk shifted uneasily. "We do not know what to make of it."

"What do you mean?" Bronn impatiently probed. "Have the soldiers attacked? Speak in plain words!"

"No. A very angry bear has attacked the horses of the white men and sent them running in a panic," Gun In The Water looked down at the confused white men as he spoke. "The whites are screaming and shooting and many of their horses have thrown them. The bear kills all in its path."

"It is a bad thing to be on foot with an angry grizzly about." Bronn laughed ruefully as he glared at the major and the Indian agent by turns. "A good sign."

"You should not joke about it," Standing Bear quietly admonished his son. Sansa stared at the two warriors then; their pale countenances revealed that both were clearly shaken. "Wakan Tanka has awakened Grandfather from his winter rest to attack them, to fight the battle against the white soldiers for us. It is the most sacred, powerful of medicine, my son."

Sansa began trembling at his words, and Margaery held her close. "Your prayers have been answered. The gods sent it to help us." She whispered in Sansa's ear.

"Why are you surprised?" Sandor looked around and then pointed at Sansa and Margaery. "Wakan Tanka sent Red Wolf and Healing Needle to us as gifts of winter and the whites openly said they meant to rape and kill them. It is only natural that my spirit animal responded to my fury against these white soldiers." Anger choked his words as he looked toward the women once more. "Wakan Tanka did not take their words lightly."

"Yes, and everyone knows the only creature in this forest more fearsome than my brother when protecting his wife is an angry grizzly." Bronn added.

The warriors and the chief nodded respectfully.

"Answer me: how are the people treating the animal?" The chief asked.

"They are leaving the bear to the white men," Black Elk responded. "He is not interested in our people and has left the gully in pursuit of the whites. The warriors will not give chase."

"All are afraid of such powerful medicine, for everyone knows only Wakan Tanka can awaken a bear before its time," Gun In The Water added. "Besides, no warrior would kill a grizzly when not on a sacred hunt."

"Good," Bronn responded. "Their actions awakened Grandfather; let them try to stop him on their own. It is as Wakan Tanka wills."

Sandor folded his arms and watched Standing Bear closely. Even now, his father's expressions were often unreadable to him.

"Why must the women come to these men, my chief?" He finally asked. "The soldier has shown his true face. The agent is simply afraid."

"You will punish them in front of your wife," Standing Bear answered evenly. "The tribe should see it."

"You are wise, my chief," Sandor dipped his head.

"Father, brother, the women are safe with me."

Standing Bear approvingly nodded to his eldest son. Shouting his war cry, Sandor was on the major in a moment, grabbing the man by the hair and swiftly drawing his blade over the man's throat.

* The soldier screamed loudly and feebly staggered out of the tipi. Black Elk held his war lance in front of the Indian agent but did not lay a hand on him. Stunned, Sansa followed Sandor outside, and noticed the cut around the major's throat was not deep enough for a quick kill. _Sandor means to make him suffer._

"Look away, Healing Needle and Red Wolf." Bronn ordered when Sandor began ripping through the man's breeches.

Paling, Margaery turned away with a gasp, burying her face in Sansa's neck.

"No, I will not." Sansa quietly answered, stunning her friend and husband alike.

Bronn's mouth twitched and he nodded shortly, showing that he understood her.

"Sansa, really, you don't mean to watch this-" Margaery began, until Sansa took her hands into her own.

"Yes, Margaery, I _will_ watch." Sansa dipped her head slightly toward the major writhing on the ground. "This man would have stolen us from our family, raped us and then killed us and left us for the crows. He deserves what Sandor is doing. I will honor him."

Other members of the tribe gathered around the two women, whispering in confusion and placing themselves between the white men and Sansa and Margaery.

"Taku? _What is happening?_ " Running Fox wriggled through the crowd until she was beside them. In her hands she brandished two axes. Black Elk prodded the Indian agent out of the flap.

"Iye awíyukčaŋ kiŋyaŋ na čhažé wa winyan. _They meant to steal and rape my daughters_." The chief soberly answered.

"Sni! _No_!"

A loud collective gasp when up and immediately Running Fox stepped in front of Sansa. Shouts of outrage rippled through the people. All eyes turned toward Sandor.

"Ma oyúspa neya mahel nape. _I hold you in my hand_." Panting in fury, he held the soldier steady, awaiting her declaration. Sansa noticed his knuckles were white from the effort of his restraint.

"I will witness you, Three Hounds." Sansa answered in English while she stared into the eyes of the man writhing on the ground. "You ignorant, horrible excuse for a man. You came among my people, in my father's house and in front of my husband, no less, talking openly about wanting to rape us and steal us away."

"You had to translate-" the man gurgled out.

Sandor responded by pressing his foot down on the man's chest. "You did not _ask_ if we spoke English, wasicu. You came into my family's tipi, under our protection, and spoke of your desire to _rape_ my wife and my brother's wife. What do you think I should do to you for such behavior?" He hissed close to the man's face.

"Your words are unforgivable." Sansa stated. "You-"

"I told ya, didn't I?" The Indian agent bawled out.

Black Elk cuffed him.

"I done told ya they'd understand! Damn you to hell!" The agent went on.

"Cut his tongue out for interrupting my wife," Sandor growled low in Lakota, and before Sansa could turn her head away, Black Elk sliced off the appendage and triumphantly threw it at her feet.

"You wanted to believe my husband did not understand your words," Sansa went on, her voice shaking slightly. She drew a deep breath. "You were determined to believe us ignorant, savage even, and that I was ruined. You were wrong. Joffrey and men like you are worse than animals."

Sansa saw sickening recognition take hold in the man's frightened eyes.

* "Help me, have mercy-" Blood drained out of his neck with each word, creeping ever closer to her feet, and she moved away in disgust.

Shaking his war lance, Sandor roared another fear inspiring cry in response. The chief joined in, shaking his war lance as he nodded to her approvingly.

"Waŋyáŋka Yamni Sunka tȟokíčič'uŋ! _Witness the vengeance of Three Hounds on my behalf_!" Sansa commanded authoritatively to the members of the tribe. She held her husband's gaze as she spoke, and Sandor straightened his back, his eyes glittering with pride as he regarded her.

The warriors remaining in the camp shouted Sandor's name and shook their war lances while the rest of the people shouted out their approval, the uproar giving Sansa a great sense of gratification. _They all look to Sandor for protection. I must show that I trust his judgement._

"Kpasyáša Suŋgmánitu Tanka, mahansani! Tȟokíčič'uŋ! _Red Wolf, my other skin, I take vengeance on your behalf!_ " Sandor called out, the sound of his voice stirring her from her thoughts.

* "Mahansani, yaonihan. _My other skin, you honor me_." Sansa replied, watching Sandor solemnly. Swiftly he reached down and castrated the man. Weakly the major cried out and then rolled away from Sandor.

A surge of nausea rushed to Sansa's stomach but she did not look away, the young woman fixedly watching over her husband. Subconsciously she folded her hands in an effort to still her trembling.

"It is enough, my wife. Please turn aside and spare yourself, for my sake and the sake of our sacred one, Little Winter Bear," Sandor quietly spoke to her. "You have shown your bravery and set a good example for our child and the tribe. I am well pleased."

* His tenderness toward her in the wake of such a brutal act stunned the young woman. Bowing, Sansa eagerly turned away and hid her face next to Margaery in Bronn's chest, squeezing her eyes closed and trying to shut her ears to the sound of metal scraping against teeth followed by gagging. She felt Bronn's powerful arms envelope her shoulders and smooth over her hair while Running Fox embraced her from behind and whispered soothingly in her ear.

* The man's voice weakly cried out once more; a harsh tearing noise followed, and Sansa involuntarily flinched, causing Bronn to tighten his hold.

"It is over, Red Wolf." He whispered. "You and Yellow Flower are safe. Your honor is restored."

After ceremonially washing the blood that stained Sandor's hands, White Buffalo shook her rattle drum and sang: "Wolf Woman walks among us this day in Red Wolf! Grandfather is in the woods fighting for Three Hounds!"

* Sandor then walked toward Sansa and presented the scalp on his war lance to her. Choking down her revulsion, she touched her hand to the base of the lance while staring into his eyes. Satisfied, Sandor bowed, laid the weapon at her feet and then took her into his arms.

"Remember my promise."

"No one will hurt me again, or you will kill them," Sansa whispered. "I will never forget."

Wordlessly Sandor pressed his lips to her forehead in response.

The crowd shouted their approval and joined White Buffalo in singing of Sandor's bravery while Running Fox kicked the wounded Indian agent toward her brother.

"What will be done with him, my daughter?" The chief asked Sansa quietly. The man mumbled incoherently.

"I-I do not know what should be done with him," she lowered her eyes. "My father, I entrust him to you."

The chief waved his war lance. "Bronn Black Water, I give him into your hand." He turned to Sandor. "Go, my son, and finish Grandfather's work."

White Hawk led Sandor's horse toward him.

"I will return soon, wife, after I finish the man Joffrey." He turned toward White Buffalo. "Tend her and Healing Needle and take them to my tipi. This has been a most upsetting day."

With that he kicked the horse in the flanks and rode toward the gully.

* * *

  **A/N: The offense given to Sansa and Margaery by the white men is unforgivable in Lakota culture. It offended the women, their husbands and relatives, and by extention, the entire tribe. The fact that both women are pregnant only compounds the offense, as the women are carrying "sacred gifts" from Wakan Tanka.**

**Though often portrayed as "savage", in truth, honor is very important to the Lakota people. To threaten a Lakota woman with sexual assault was unthinkable, though some renegades would use it in war against the whites. It was the privilege of her husband and male members of her family to see that her honor was restored and the threat eliminated, and the men would defer to her on how matters were handled.**

**I only alluded to the most graphic aspects of Sandor's punishment to spare the readers. I also felt it an unnecessary addition to the narrative and that to go into explicit detail **served no good purpose**. I attempted to convey the horror of the acts by describing Sansa's reactions to the sounds around her and I hope I was successful. If you are interested in knowing _exactly_ what he was doing, just leave me a message in the comments and I will tell you. I will also include a warning in my response so that readers who wish to avoid it can skip over my comment.  
**

**Sansa is dutiful first, as is befitting both her personality and her role as the wife of the future chief. It is her responsibility to set the example in demonstrating her approval of his actions on her behalf by watching him closely, and also in doing so is considered setting a good example for their unborn child, who the Lakota believed learned in the womb.  
**

**Many phrases are direct translations of Lakota into English which is why certain wording might seem unusual or awkward. Here are a few translation explanations that you may find helpful:**

***Grandfather; Grandfather is in the Woods - Lakota would refer to the grizzly bear in this way whenever they were in the forest or on the plains out of respect for the power and intelligence of the animal. To use his Lakota name was to summon him to them, and quite honestly, they did not want to draw his attention unnecessarily. They were very superstitious about the animal and any appearance by him was considered a gift from Wakan Tanka and powerful medicine.**

***"You honor me": I am honored by your attention and I am listening attentively to you; I am ready to do whatever you ask of me.**

*** Use of former names : Bronn using Little Bird or Yellow Flower is not merely a nickname but an endearment, to remind them of the love he has for them. It was a means of comforting them as well.**

*** "Father, brother, the women are safe with me" - Bronn is telling Sandor he is ready to protect the woman whenever he wishes to attack the white men.**

*** Witness : literally in Lakota means "watch and see." It means that everyone should learn from his example as well as the punishment he inflicted. Sansa responding to Sandor this way is saying that she is willing to watch and learn from him and bear witness to the honorableness of his actions.  
**

**If you would like something else explained, please PM me and I will help you with it.**

**Black Elk's punishment of the Indian agent, White Buffalo singing and shaking her rattle drum, Sandor laying the scalp at the man's feet are all demonstrations of the seriousness of the situation. Sandor's actions to restore Sansa's honor and Bronn's for Margaery, are in fact religious in nature, holy deeds. That is why Sandor did not tolerate Sansa being interrupted by the Indian agent during his execution of the major and Standing Bear gave the agent to Bronn.**

**As always, if there is anything else you would like more information about, please let me know. :D**


	29. Justice Served

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all of your comments! Reviews are love and feed the muse. :D See end for notes.

An eerie silence stilled the forest animals as they followed the tracks of the grizzly along the riverbank; not even the birds stirred. Cautiously the warriors searched for the animal's course. It did not take them long to find it, for the great bear's path traversed the tributary to the northern boundary of the camp, then continued toward the meadow trail and into the gully before disappearing over the ridge.

Fear prickled at Sandor's skin as though a porcupine had brushed against him; anxiously he swatted away the feeling with his hand. A murderous bear was hidden from their sight and may very well still be in the area, watching them.

"The animals have stopped speaking," Black Elk cast a wary glance around him. "Grandfather has been in this place."

"Grandfather, you have honored us today. We respectfully ask permission to come into your woods." Sandor called out. "We do not wish to anger you, and we thank you for protecting us this day."

The forest remained silent as the grave.

This was no ordinary bear, and nor did he seem to follow the normal patterns Sandor had observed in Grandfather. Their situation was precarious indeed. The balance of the earth had been altered by Wakan Tanka, and Sandor was unsure how this would affect Grandfather's view of their intrusion into his home. Glancing around at his men, it was clear from their demeanor that they shared his concern.

Bronn studied each of the deep depressions with care, comparing the size of his own large hands against the prints of the bear and following the length of its stride with his steps, measuring them out.

"Watch the shrubbery." He said softly.

"We are, brother. Please, continue." Sandor rasped, his eyes searching the overgrowth above them.

Bronn scooped up a large handful of dead leaves and held them aloft, releasing them slowly into the breeze.

"I do not know where he has gone, but we are upwind," he sighed, relief resonating clearly in his deep voice. "Grandfather will not smell us, even if he is close."

It unsettled Sandor that they had no idea where he had gone, and the animal had outwitted his best warriors, leaving no clues to his location.

"What have you to tell me about him?" Sandor asked, the man still wary despite his brother's assurance.

"He is a very large male, Three Hounds; he is heavier than a buffalo and stands taller than you by half. A great bear, I must say. I have never seen a deeper track, nor such a long stride." Bronn dipped his fingers into the track, and Sandor watched nervously as his brother's digits sunk into the mud up to his knuckles.

"He is in the spring of his life."

Nodding, Bronn pointed to an especially distinct track, the wide spaces between the toes and claws indicating the animal had yet to reach his full size. "I believe that he will grow larger still. He does not appear to have taken his winter sleep, though I cannot explain how that is possible."

Murmuring, Sandor sized up the space between his toes and claws. "Nor I. He is large for one who has just awakened." Pleased, his mouth curled up at Bronn. "You are an expert at reading tracks, my brother. I am glad you are here."

Grinning at Sandor's uncharacteristic praise, Bronn quickly mounted his horse. "I do not believe he is nearby, but I do believe we should stay mounted."

Sandor nodded in agreement.

"It is rude for us to linger. We must go now."

As the warriors continued onward, fresh scat began littering the trail. Black Elk followed them, then knelt and fingered the droppings with care, studying them closely.

"Berries, the bones of squirrels, and horsehair," he looked up at Sandor. "But the droppings left by Grandfather does not tell the whole story; not yet." Black Elk smelled the wind. "Snow is coming. Grandfather will be looking for a place to bury his food store."

A sharp shiver crept over Sandor's skin. They had not discovered any evidence that the grizzly had consumed his human victims: no drag marks, chewed clothing or remains were discovered along the animal's route. Indeed, there were no signs that the bear made the area his home. No claw marks on the trees, den openings, or day beds were to be found; no carcasses nor depressed areas of uncovered earth. It was all very unusual and not typical behavior for a bear, the entire situation serving to further set Sandor's nerves on edge.

"Grandfather came to protect Sansa Red Wolf and Healing Needle and for no other reason, brother." Bronn whistled low. "It is powerful medicine, very powerful, even fear inspiring. We are very blessed."

Sandor could not deny that it indeed appeared to be the case. After methodically surveying the surrounding area, he finally dismounted.

"Thanks to Wakan Tanka." Sandor murmured low as he knelt before the bear tracks. "Thank you, Grandfather, for coming out of your winter sleep to protect our wives and the tribe." With that he laid bundles of sage on the ground. "Accept the gifts we have given and grant us safe passage through your home."

Bronn likewise offered his prayers and a gift of dried berries.

"Does any man see signs that Grandfather is still in these woods?" Sandor asked one last time before they turned back.

The answer was obvious, but Sandor believed it never hurt to ask the men their opinions, for while he and Bronn were very alert, both men had been upset by the day's events and it was possible they had overlooked an important clue leading to the animal's whereabouts.

"No, my brother," Black Elk answered. "There is no sign Grandfather is here; only that he had been."

"He is most likely returned to the snowy country now," Gun In The Water glanced about. "The birds are singing. The rabbit has come out. I am certain Grandfather is not here." He paused. "Though he may have returned to the soldiers."

"Then we must go to where Grandfather met the soldiers and horses to know for certain." Sandor announced. It was a delicate matter, inviting oneself to Grandfather's meal, but it had to be done.

Bronn readily agreed. "There may be survivors."

"If there are, they will meet their end at my hand," Sandor growled out. "Does any man disagree with this?" He carefully scrutinized the expressions of his men, staring so intensely at each man that all but Bronn averted their eyes.

"You are the bravest, most honorable among us and we will follow your wishes, Three Hounds." The men murmured one by one, all bowing their heads and averting their eyes respectfully.

Seemingly satisfied, Sandor climbed onto his horse and took the lead position heading toward the mouth of the tributary.

The horses began bucking as they approached, the animals rolling their eyes and dancing sideways to avoid entering the heavily wooded area along the banks.

Sandor patted his horse on the neck. "You smell Grandfather, don't you?" He whispered. "You are wise to tell us."

"They smell the death of their own kind, too." Bronn winced as he pointed toward the carnage now visible in the gully below. "We should not enter."

"No," Sandor agreed. "We will not disturb Grandfather's meal. Do you see the remains of the men?"

Black Elk called out his answer, the sound breaking the silence of the gruesome scene. "Yes. They are dead but not consumed. And I have found a man whose appearance sounds like the one who beat your wife. Look for yourself," he prodded the body with the end of his war lance. "Grandfather left very little of the man Joffrey. It is a good thing he has done for her."

"Yes, I am grateful. Are you certain it is he?" Sandor asked Bronn for his opinion. He needed to know for sure, for Sansa's sake. Briefly he wondered how she would react to hearing her former abuser had been killed by Grandfather. He watched intently as his brother worked, unable to discern much from the lifeless form, but Bronn's eyes sparkled with understanding as he checked all portions of the remains with care.

"Yes, it is him, brother, I'm certain, though his yellow hair is nowhere to be seen," Bronn muttered as he kicked the remains. "He met a violent, well deserved end."

Kneeling down beside his brother, Sandor examined the broken body closely, his fury toward the man who abused his wife steadily building despite the evidence of a swift, gruesome justice Grandfather so brutally executed upon him.

The young man's scalp was gone, cleanly excised as though expertly cut away and not torn off by an animal. His face was pulled tight and frozen, the pain of the last moments of his life etched like a mask. Sandor felt no pity for him, but rather, a full sense of satisfaction for the justice Grandfather meted out for his wife welled within the man.

"He is just as Red Wolf described. I spotted him in the gully earlier, when he hung back behind the soldiers. These are his garments."

"Black Water, Three Hounds: come and see." Black Elk summoned them.

Carefully Sandor led his horse to follow in his brother's tracks toward the water's edge.

"The body you found must belong to the man Joffrey, for here is the yellow hair Red Wolf described."

Bronn poked at it with his war lance. "He tried to outrun Grandfather by entering the water but he did not succeed."

"He had a good rifle but he did not use it. What kind of man runs from the bear?" Black Elk wondered aloud. "Everyone knows one should meet death at his hand bravely, for it is deserved."

"He was a coward of the worst kind, to beat women and run from Grandfather's judgment. He is a disgrace." After spitting on the ground, Sandor turned away.

"And yet Grandfather gave him a clean death." Bronn commented quietly. "He is good."

"He did so to reassure Red Wolf of his desire to protect her and to show Three Hounds that he must not fear him," Black Elk replied, his voice reverently lowered to a whisper. "We have seen a great thing, a fearsome, powerful thing today." He bowed and silently offered prayers while fingering his medicine pouch.

Not far from Joffrey's remains, Sandor discovered the body of the one Sansa had called Meryn, the man who had left her with the terrible scars on her back.

"Grandfather scalped him, too-look and see." Bronn gasped loudly as he took his position behind his elder. "Brother, the medicine here is too strong for us."

"You speak well. We will not honor them with a burial."

The men all quietly murmured their agreement.

"Place the bodies in the tributary downstream from the camp." Sandor ordered. "Since they did not strive to attain an honorable purpose in life, let them find one in surrendering their bodies to the animals. And be quick about it. We have tested the limits of Grandfather's hospitality with our presence here."

"Go back to Red Wolf, Three Hounds," Bronn rested his hands on his brother's shoulders. "Take care of her. We will take care of matters here."

"Your words are generous and I hear them, but I will not, brother," Sandor responded. "Grandfather may still be here and if he is, you will need me."

"You are wise," Bronn answered after thinking about it a moment. "Since he fights for us, he might consider it rude for anyone to leave before the work is done."

Scanning the area one last time, the man caught sight of a large, blondish animal moving through the dense underbrush along the ridge line above them. Bronn turned his head almost at the same moment that Sandor spotted him.

"A spirit bear avenged Red Wolf, brother!" He whispered, the man clearly struggling to control his excitement. "I have never seen such powerful medicine."

The enormous bear stood on his hind legs, sniffing the air and watching them closely.

"Grandfather, thank you for allowing us into your home." Sandor said quietly. "We are thankful you protected our people and that you took the lives of the men who hurt my wife. We have come to take the dead men out of your forest and return them to the water so they no longer defile your home. Your horses are here and we will not touch your meal. We will not stay longer than necessary. Please, we ask that you let us leave in peace."

The bear let out a soft woofing sound and then darted into the underbrush, disappearing from sight.

The familiar sound of birdsong returned to the forest.

Holding his medicine pouch, Sandor let out a sigh of relief. "I will handle Joffrey and Meryn myself. Let us make haste."

* * *

On returning to camp, Sandor and his men related everything that had happened to Standing Bear and the other elders. All the men agreed it was great medicine such as none of the people had ever seen. After much debate, the council decided the best way to show appreciation for the miracle that Wakan Tanka had made was for the tribe to spend the evening in prayer with family.

"You are the source of the medicine, Three Hounds. You must bathe off seven times in the waters of the tributary." White Buffalo instructed. "You and your men. Then make your prayers. Afterward I will smudge you with white sage, while your men will smudge themselves. We will rest on the miracle Wakan Tanka has made tonight, and tomorrow we will hold a sacred feast."

Sandor could feel the eyes of his men upon him. It was clear they had expected to return to a great feast and celebration, not prayer.

"You speak well, White Buffalo," he bowed in assent and then challengingly stared at each man. All lowered their eyes submissively.

After he went through White Buffalo's prescribed sacred offerings, he hurriedly made his way to Sansa.

When Sandor pulled back the flap of the tipi, his eyes immediately fell on his wife warming herself by the fireside. She had been bathed and her lovely body was covered only by her rabbit fur robe. Her hair was aflame while her skin radiated a rosy hue in the firelight.

"Sandor!" She cried out in English as she ran to him. Sandor scooped her up in his arms and held her tightly to his breast.

He would have to tell her about the horrible death her former intended suffered at the hands of the bear, his spirit animal. Likely the brutality with which the animal used was a direct response to the hatred Sandor felt for the man. He dreaded her reaction, for though she claimed that she never cared for him, Sandor wondered how such was possible for his kind, tender hearted wife.

"Are you hurt?" Sansa asked, pulling at his robe. Eagerly she searched his skin for signs of injury. The feel of her hands on his body immediately heated Sandor's blood.

"No, wife, I am not injured." Sandor stilled her hands even though he wanted nothing more than to ease her onto his aching manhood.

"What of the soldiers?" She persisted, though her cheeks flushed prettily as she took in the sight of his arousal.

"All are dead."

"And the bear?" She began rubbing his chest and kissing him.

"Grandfather was in the forest still but he did not show himself to us." He shifted uncomfortably and averted his eyes from her curious gaze.

Knitting her brow, Sansa whispered, "Sandor, what is it? What is troubling you?"

"Sit," he urged her, settling her onto his lap in front of the fire. "We needs have a talk before we love."

* * *

 A/N: The Lakota believe the grizzly is a sacred animal and would only kill it during a sacred hunt or if it attacked, which is - and was - rare. They view the forest as his home and that they are his guests, and so it is of utmost importance to them to behave as a good guest and are respectful at all times.

They would sing softly while in the forest and speak prayers to the bear, thanking him for having them in his home, asking that he forgive them if they did something he found offensive and praising his wisdom and bravery. As a good guest and neighbor, they would make themselves known and don't enter his home unannounced, they didn't walk into his eating or sleeping areas or arrive too early in the day, didn't steal his food or frighten his children. They deferred to him and behaved respectfully at all times. Like an old man or grandfather, there are times he is cranky and believed it was best to keep alert as to changes in the bear's mood. Some days they understood that it is best to avoid him altogether. This led to very few bear attacks and a peaceful coexistence that lasted for over a thousand years.

By today's standards, there are very good, scientifically sound explanations for the behavior and blondish appearance of the grizzly in this story. Large pack animals loaded with food appearing in the forest would most certainly drive a bear out of hibernation. An early awakening would lead to the bear being exceptionally agitated and voracious, which would explain the attack on the soldiers. The bear would also recognize the Lakota as being part of his territory, familiar, and would not attack them as a food source. His coloring is of course wired into his DNA. But to the Lakota during this period, everything in this situation was considered to have a supernatural source and thus proof of the gods' intervention on behalf of the people, and in particular Sandor, who has the grizzly as his spirit animal.

Holding on to the medicine pouch or reverently touching it is a form of prayer, much like the rosary.

If you have any more questions, please don't hesitate to contact me. :D


	30. Secrets of the Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait, I have been in and out of the hospital and so writing was out of the question. Hope you enjoy this update. Please see the end for author's notes.

Under Sandor's questioning eyes, a deep unease crept over her once more. Swift and merciless, his execution of Lakota justice against the white soldiers had left her awe stricken. Sandor's prowess as a warrior secretly thrilled her, and his presence and actions gave her a sense of safety and security.

However, her relief was short lived. When Sandor whirled his horse around, black fury twisted his sharp features, making him almost unrecognizable. Sansa began shaking uncontrollably but still she walked beside him to see him off. Rage radiated off of him in waves, not unlike the day the Pawnee came. Sansa saw Bronn was similarly concerned, his anxious glance darting between them before he followed after his brother.

Sandor's father had often admonished him to control his temper, Sansa recalled, and she could not bear the prospect of losing her husband to his anger. Distressed, she had hurriedly offered prayers and then sought out White Buffalo.

As Sandor waited for her answer, Sansa thought back on what the holy woman had advised her.

"What can I tell you today?" She had called from inside the tipi.

Eagle Woman kindly offered Sansa her arm and guided her to White Buffalo's right side.

"I came from offering prayers and wished to speak to you."

Eagle Woman placed a plate and cup in her hand. "You honor us with your visit, Red Wolf. Sit." After urging Sansa to sit, she then covered her with a rabbit robe. "You have had a distressing morning."

"Yes, and I am grateful to you for fighting alongside my husband. You are very brave."

"It is an honor to fight for Three Hounds." Eagle Woman smiled at her.

"I saw you kneeling among the aspen." White Buffalo softly mentioned as she held a platter out to her. "Take a plum cake, young one."

"After Sandor left, I hurried to the stand," Sansa nibbled on the sweet cake. "It is my favorite spot to pray. It is very much like the one where Sandor had found me hiding."

"That is good medicine," White Buffalo reached out and squeezed Sansa's shoulder, "the trees listen to you. I have seen it. Their leaves quivered from the moment you entered the grove." Gently she plucked a bright red maple leaf from Sansa's hair. "And they follow you."

"I was praying for Sandor," Sansa had confessed. "His eyes were wild, animalistic with fury. I am frightened for him. I prayed for Wakan Tanka to gentle his anger, especially now that our child is on the way."

White Buffalo nodded understandingly. "I have warned him many times to quench the rage in his heart but so far, he has been unable to do so."

"Has he spoke of his childhood with you?" Eagle Woman asked gently.

"Just a little," Sansa admitted, suddenly ashamed that she knew so few personal details about her husband, especially considering that she had shared nearly everything about her own upbringing with him.

The medicine woman closed her eyes for several long moments.

"You will never be able to understand him, nor his anger and desire to protect you, without this knowledge." White Buffalo stated with finality. "Return to your tipi and wait. Make him his favorite foods, bathe and make yourself pleasant. Offer to comfort him as a wife should. He will be ready to speak of it."

Sansa did as she was told, but now as she stared into his solemn eyes, she was unsure if her preparations were enough.

"We needs talk." Sandor repeated, squinting at her. "Did you not hear me?"

"Forgive me, I did hear you but then the events of the day came rushing back to me." Sansa nervously patted the sitting mat.

"What is it that divides your mind?" Sandor fidgeted with the fringe on her robe. "You are not frightened still of the white man, are you?"

"No-" Sansa uncertainly wrung her hands, struggling to find the right words in Lakota to express her true concern.

"Were you not pleased with my justice?" He tipped her face up to him.

"No, Sandor, I was very pleased. You honor me with your bravery and ferocity. There is no one safer in camp than me and Little Bear."

Grunting, the large man nodded and let out a long relieved sigh.

"I spoke to White Buffalo earlier, after I finished praying," Sansa went on. "Wakan Tanka has answered my prayer. You have returned safely to me."

His gray eyes glittered curiously. "Speak plainly to me."

"Sandor, whatever it is that troubles you, I want you to know that we are stronger together." Sansa cupped his face in her hands. "I want you to feel it in your heart." She rested her hands on his chest.

"I know, wife. I am grateful. But the cause of my disquiet is not from outside matters, but springs from within my heart." Sandor glanced at her, his eyes both pained and hardened.

She took his hands in her own.

"Then let me share all that is in it," Sansa whispered. "Together we will find the answers, I am certain of it. I want to comfort you as you have comforted me."

Despite her reassurances, though, Sansa could plainly see that the man could scarcely bring himself to put his thoughts into words, let alone share them.

"Sansa, I did not kill Joffrey," Sandor's gaze delved into her own, searching for her reaction. "I wanted to, but we came too late. Grandfather fought for us. He gifted us with his protection and he executed the man himself. It is very powerful medicine such as none in the tribe have ever seen before."

"I am greatly relieved." Sansa smiled softly and squeezed his hands, though inwardly she shuddered; the very thought of the enormous grizzly tearing into the men was most frightening indeed. "Grandfather is just. He knew that Joffrey did not deserve the mercy of a quick death at your hand. I am satisfied."

She watched the muscles clench in his jaw.

"But I promised you that I would kill him."

"You would have, if Grandfather had not reached Joffrey first," Sansa rubbed her hands up his forearms and over his shoulders in even strokes. "It is as it should be. Do you not agree?"

Eyes widening, Sandor leaned back from her. "Yes, I do. I was unsure if you would agree."

"I am very thankful that you rid us of those horrible white men," Sansa kissed each of his hands, "and that you kept us safe."

Sighing deeply, Sandor attempted a smile.

"But despite that, I frightened you, Sansa. I frightened you just as I did the day I found you." When Sansa started to protest, he held up his hand. "Do not disrespect me by denying it. I saw it in your eyes."

"I am not afraid of you. I am fearful that your rage will get the better of you one day," Sansa rubbed the back of his neck. "I worry that the violence sown during your childhood will reap its poisoned fruitage in our married life, and I cannot bear it." She tipped his face so she could look into his eyes. "You are my everything, beloved. Please tell me what happened to you."

Sandor jerked away from her. "I do not see why I should speak of it, now or ever."

"You owe it to Little Winter Bear and to me. I know you do not want him to suffer because of your silence and anger."

"Careful, wife." Sandor warned as he leapt to his feet and began pacing. "You don't know what you are saying to me."

"Sandor, open your heart to me, I beg of you," Sansa fell to her knees and wrapped her arms around his legs and then looked up at him.

Her actions visibly upset him. Sandor stood frozen, looking down at her in disbelief.

"Speaking of it will lighten your heart and free you, so you will not bring your past troubles into our future family." Sansa pled with him. "Please, please tell me."

"No, Sansa, no, please, rise to your feet." Distraught, Sandor knelt down and carefully lifted her in to his arms. "You must never kneel to me, do you understand? I am your husband, not a stranger to whom you must beg favor."

"Sandor, I want your heart to heal," Sansa held his face, "And I will gladly bow to you, if that is what it takes for you will hear my words."

Sandor shook his head adamantly. "No. It is not right." Sitting beside her, he pulled her into his arms. "It is my shame that I cannot hear you, not yours so that you should bow to me or that in my stubbornness I have caused you to spill your tears. Forgive me."

"I forgive you. Now, let me help you."

"You sound like White Buffalo." Sandor huffed out an annoyed sigh, though his stormy eyes tenderly gazed into her own. To Sansa's surprise, she saw vulnerability there, as well as deep sadness.

"She is advising me on how to be the best wife I can be to you, so I suppose it is only natural that I would sound like her." Sansa calmly answered. "I know I can help you bear it. Please, let me share your burden."

"You will not share this burden, nor will Little Bear, not now or ever," Sandor tightly held her chin. "I would never be so cruel to my loved ones. But I will tell it to you."

He drew a deep breath. "My mother Grey Owl was very young when she came to the people – younger than you by five winters. My father said she was very beautiful, so beautiful that all the men wanted her the moment they laid eyes on her."

"Do you remember her?" She gently prompted.

"Oh yes, she was a wonderful mother, kind and strong. My eyes are hers." His voice grew hoarse. "My father was the one who found her on the prairie, and so she was made his wife in the same way you became mine. However, he did not take her into his tipi until she agreed to be joined to him. As he waited, Chief Bows Low allowed her to live with our medicine man, Wind Walker, and his wife to preserve her innocence."

"Was Chief Bows Low the father of Chief Standing Bear?"

"No, he was not. He was a coward, and thus his name."

Nodding, Sansa took his hands in her own and ran her thumbs over his knuckles. "Was she happy in the tipi of Wind Walker?"

"Yes, at first," Sandor spoke through gritted teeth. "My father made great love to my mother, gifting her with many precious things, taking her on long rides and building a wonderful lodge for her. She was the most precious gift he ever received, he often said, even though he also was wed to Bronn's mother."

Sansa wondered why the chief had taken a second wife if he was deeply in love with Grey Owl, but she swallowed her questions. This was Sandor's time to speak and she would not interrupt him to satisfy her curiosity.

Sandor cleared his throat. "It was very wise of the chief to give Grey Owl to my father, for he knew some of the men would mistreat her, but that is where his wisdom found its end."

"Why would some wish to hurt Grey Owl?" Sansa gently asked.

"Because to humiliate her is to strike a blow against the whites. It is the same wrong headedness that Spotted Tail felt toward you." Anger flared in Sandor eyes as he thoughtfully stroked her cheek. "One such man was the chief's own son, a very large warrior the people called Mountain That Rides. All the people feared him. They would give him their choicest meat and hides so he would not hurt them.

"He was especially jealous of my father and angry that the chief married Grey Owl to a man not of their own family rather than allow him to vie for her affection. Whenever my mother went to the watering place, Mountain That Rides would follow her. He would beat her legs with reeds, making scars on her milky skin, and call her names. He would also frighten her, shout at her and strike her with thin logs from the fire, and she was burned many times."

Sansa's hand flew up to her throat. "Oh, how horrible. What did the chief do to him?"

"He did nothing!" Sandor shouted, rising to his feet. "Nothing. Mountain That Rides was so large and cruel that his very name struck fear into the hearts of the enemy. The chief would not punish his son and remove his best warrior. My father insisted on killing Mountain That Rides, which was his right as her husband, but the chief would not have it. It was very bad medicine, and Wakan Tanka grew angry. We suffered many _wičhákaȟwokas_ that _Wójupi Wi._ " He was visibly upset, and invariably his words lapsed between English and Lakota.

" _Tornados that June_ , is that right?" Sansa clarified in English.

"Yes." He fretfully rubbed his head.

"What about Wind Walker?" Sansa whispered. "Was there nothing he could do for your mother?"

"Our medicine people are not taught the ways of war, so he could not fight Mountain That Rides physically. But his medicine was very powerful, and he and White Buffalo, his daughter, made great curses on the man, causing him to suffer terrible headaches, loose bowels and pains in the legs and arms that lasted for days at a time. It weakened Mountain That Rides' desire to hurt my mother but still, on occasion, he would beat her out of spite. Eventually the constant pain from Wind Walker's medicine damaged his mind and yet despite this, the Mountain lived."

Sansa squeezed his hands once more.

"My father took my mother to wife and they brought me during their first coupling. The chief would not recognize my father's rights to kill his son. Mountain struck my mother while she was heavy with child, and my father slashed his skin for each time he had beaten her – over forty cuts."

"And how was your mother?"

"My mother suffered greatly because of her wounds," Sandor seethed. "Watching her misery and seeing the fury of my father planted seeds of deep anger. Wind Walker believed my anger came from feeling Mountain That Rides blows in the womb."

"I cannot even imagine such a thing. You must have been very afraid, too, to see your mother in such a state because of him." Sansa brushed her fingers over the stubble on his face.

"No. Even as a boy, I feared no man." His eyes flashed defiantly. "I waited and learned. When I grew bigger, I often practiced hunting Mountain That Rides with my first war lance. I would creep upon him, as silent as a mountain lion, and wait for Wakan Tanka to deliver him into my hand. One day, my opportunity came as he cooked over an open fire. I focused all of my rage and used my fury to drive my war lance into his chest. Mountain That Rides screamed and thrashed and still I held on. My anger gave me strength and I shouted for Wakan Tanka to help me. My weapon eventually broke within his chest. With his dying breath, he grabbed me and put my face into the fire, holding me there until death loosened his grip."

Sansa began to weep. "You were so brave to fight for your mother."

"I was foolish to go against the chief, but my mother's suffering haunted me night and day; I could not let him live. After Mountain That Rides died, I felt her spirit soar; she was free. The elder men wanted me to say I was sorry but I refused. My father took me to the medicine people. Wind Walker was very old, but he and White Buffalo made strong medicine for me. She prayed and treated my burns and saw the spirit of the bear in my eyes.

"The chief claimed I would die because Wakan Tanka would punish me. But I did not die. I grew far bigger and stronger than any man in the tribe. The old people saw it as a sign that I had powerful medicine and let me be. My father would not let the chief's curse stand and challenged him. The night before they were to fight, a black spider crept into the tipi and bit the chief on the neck, and within a day, he died from its poison. White Buffalo and Wind Walker prayed over the dead insect, and they discovered that it was no ordinary spider, but the trickster Iktomi who had come and killed Bows Low for my father. And that is how my father became chief."

When Sandor finished speaking, he stared ahead of him as though he were watching the scenes of his life play out before his eyes once more.

Sansa raised onto her knees and hugged him from behind. "Iktomi gave your father and mother justice, just as the wolves and Grandfather did for us. My white family would call it a miracle."

He nodded. "These occurrences have caused much excited talk among the elders. It is powerful medicine, to have the gods fight for our family - not once, but twice." Sandor leaned into her embrace. "Tomorrow the tribe will feast and offer thanks to Wakan Tanka. Does this please you?"

"Yes," she smiled up at him. "I am honored to have such an experience, though having the soldiers here frightened me greatly."

"Yes, it concerns Father and me as well."

"Will you tell me one more thing?" Sansa asked quietly.

"You may ask anything you wish." Sandor pulled away so he could look into her eyes.

"After you killed Mountain That Rides and Iktomi killed the chief, did you anger depart from you?"

"For a time, it left me," Sandor rasped low. "Then the whites stole my mother."

"No!" Sansa grasped his arms. "Is that how she passed?"

"Yes," he squeezed Sansa close to his heart, "I found her, saw what they had done to her. My anger returned to me stronger than before." Sandor then held her chin firmly, forcing her to hold his gaze. "When I found you and I saw your wounds, the anger consumed me as the fire does a dried leaf. My desire to protect you was – and is now - even stronger than what I had felt for my mother. It clouded my mind and stole my thoughts. When the Pawnee came to hurt you, I felt like the great bear had taken over my body, and I killed ruthlessly, without hesitation, without sorrow or regret. And only when I killed the man who held you did the feeling leave me." He stared into her eyes. "It may never leave me entirely. You must learn to live with it, and I will do what I can to control it."

"Perhaps it is the will of Wakan Tanka, for you to act as ferocious as Grandfather when it comes to the safety of the people." Sansa murmured. "But such anger cannot bleed into everyday life. It will hurt both you and us." She patted her belly.

"It will not," Sandor raised his voice suddenly, and then cursed under his breath. "Sansa, my beloved, I swear to you and to Little Bear on Wakan Tanka that I will not bring anger into our family. I will never shout at you, or raise my hand, or scare you. And never will I do so to our children."

Swallowing hard, Sansa could only stare at him in amazement, her emotions rendering her speechless.

Confused, Sandor frowned at her. "Is it not enough? Then I swear on your Jesus and on all the gods watching over us whose names I do not know."

"No, Sandor, it was enough for you to swear on Wakan Tanka." Sansa regained her composure. "It is very powerful to hear your promise. It touches me very deeply, that is why I did not speak."

Reaching for his knife, Sandor grasped a long length of hair and sawed the blade through it. Sansa watched in fascination as he singed one end of the lock in the fire and then braided it, tying the other end with a rawhide string. Afterward, he knelt before her.

"Wife," Sandor held out his offering, "this is a symbol of my promise. If you accept my vow, wear it on your wrist, and know that I will never allow anger into our marriage."

Anxiously he watched her, waiting. Without hesitation, Sansa held her wrist out to him.

"I accept, and I will be proud to wear it."

A small smile played on Sandor's mouth as he carefully looped the length several times around her wrist and then tied it securely.

"Thank you," Sansa leaned over and pressed her mouth against his own. "And I will help you in any way I can. All you needs do is confide in me, I swear it." She reached for his knife and started to cut her own hair, but Sandor stilled her hands.

"It is not for you to prove anything to me, my wife," Sandor lifted her into his arms. "It is for me to prove myself to you as your husband." He kissed her gently. "Now I wish to give you a question."

"Of course," Sansa curiously leaned in. "Ask me anything you like."

"Do you wonder how I can kill and yet love with the same hands?" Sandor eyed her closely.

"Well, yes, I have wondered that at times, my love," Sansa wavered out a long exhalation. "Please don't be angry."

"I am not angry."

His frown, however, made her wonder.

"How did you know?" Sansa raised her brow at him.

"Do you take me for an insensitive husband?" Sandor's frown deepened further. "Do you believe I do not know you?"

"No, of course not." She touched his cheek. "You know me better than anyone."

The burned side of his mouth turned up in a small smile. "We have been married for seven moons. Do you truly believe that I could love you and yet not see the question in your eyes before your lips gave it voice?" Sandor gently removed her hands from his face and took them into his own warm grip.

"No, I suppose not." Sansa felt a rush of heat flush her face then.

"Do you think that I could taste you and grow to understand each of your sighs and cries and moans without learning your heart as well?" His eyes glittered as he looked over her bare body. After his remark, Sandor pressed his lips to her shoulder, his warm breath ghosting over her skin, bringing a delightful shiver throughout Sansa.

"Sansa, I kill to protect those I love." His eyes wandered down to the swell of her belly. "But I will not allow anger to hurt you or Little Winter Bear. Do you see?"

"Yes, I understand, my love." Tears dampened her cheeks. Sansa quietly took his hand, rested it on her stomach and then covered it with her own.

The couple loved through the night, and Sansa felt closer to Sandor than ever. The next morning, they were awaked to the sound of Bronn's cries.

" _Thikapa unthantanhan waniyetu! Un mani mahel Thunkashila Sakehanska's heyata_. Bring your tipi and break camp. We are walking into Grandfather Grizzly's high country."

"We are leaving?" Sansa asked, disbelieving. "So soon? The weather has not yet broken."

"We are not breaking winter camp altogether, beloved," Sandor helped her to her feet. "We are going into the high country, where no whites can follow us. It is for the safety of the people."

"Why did you not tell me this last night?"

Sandor shook his head. "I did not know for certain then. The chief had not yet decided what to do. It must have come to him in a dream last night."

"I wonder if I can make it," Sansa rubbed her middle. "I am unable to balance very well, for our son has made my belly quite round."

"And quite beautiful," Sandor grinned lasciviously at her. "You must not worry. You will travel on the travois, and I will bring in the women to help you."

Bleary eyed, Sansa absently nodded and began packing their things, all the while wondering if she would ever grow accustomed to Lakota ways. Before they moved out, Sansa and Sandor looked around them one last time.

"I will miss this place, for it is where we found love," Sansa tearfully whispered into his vest.

"We have been blessed here. We will return, beloved, and when we do, Little Winter Bear will be with us." Tenderly he pressed his lips to Sansa's forehead before lifting her into the travois.

* * *

A/N: Iktomi is the trickster figure of the Lakota, Dakota, and Nakota tribes. The name "Iktomi" literally means "spider," and he is sometimes called Spider or Spider-Man in English, but he is usually depicted as a human man in Sioux legends. Like many Plains Indian trickster figures, Iktomi is a negative role model who behaves as socially inappropriately as possible by Sioux standards. Most Sioux stories about Iktomi are consequently very funny, ranging from light-hearted fables to ribald jokes. But sometimes Iktomi's misbehavior is more serious and violent, and the stories become cautionary tales about the dangers of the world. When a member of the tribe was sickened or died from the bite of a black widow or brown recluse spider, it was believed that Iktomi was punishing them.

Much of the way the dialogue in this chapter is framed is related a direct translation from Lakota into English, so if it seems a bit unusual, that is the reason. And as always, if you have any questions, please feel free to hit me up.

Thank you for your continued support of this story. :D


	31. Give and Take

A/N: Warning: there is a paragraph describing the common ways Native Americans treated captive whites. I have put an asterisk next to it for those who wish to avoid it. There is also a Lakota word with two asterisks; no warning, just to indicate that below it I included the definition.

* * *

The grueling climb over the steep, jagged granite mountains toward the new winter camp proved a slow undertaking for the village. By the third day, Sandor insisted that Sansa ride in front of him on his great war horse, for he no longer trusted the travois in the rough terrain.

Situated across his muscular thighs so that his body absorbed the motion of the horse, Sansa felt utterly safe with Sandor, who draped his hand over her belly protectively. His massive arms held her securely against his chest, and Sansa burrowed into him, relishing their closeness. In Sandor’s embrace, she truly felt like the little bird to which he so often likened her.

The whispers of the people met their ears, spoken loudly enough to be heard and yet low enough to allow the speakers obscurity. _She brought the whites here. They came to us because of her. Her people will not stop. Three Hounds must abandon her for the sake of the tribe. Now we have to move in the dead of winter._

Sansa stiffened once more. _What if there was a large number of people who agreed with them? They will make us leave in the middle of winter._ She certainly did not want to be the cause of unrest among the tribe. Her eyes searched out the chief, whose face was as unreadable as that of her husband.

“Is it very far?” She whispered to him. “I worry for the people. It is a hard trip and very cold.”

Sandor told her the complaining was to be expected, but Sansa still felt responsible for the need to move. Normally the village rested and told stories at this time of year. Their resentful looks and comments directed at her troubled her.

“It is no harder than what they are used to,” Bronn assured her as he rode past. “Do not worry, Little Bird. There will always be those who complain.”

“If not for Joffrey, they would still be in their original camp, not traversing over rough terrain to find another home,” Sansa spoke into Sandor’s ear. “It is unfair. I feel so guilty.”

“For what? It is not for the people to say when we move; it is for the chief and Bronn.” He stroked her cheek. “It is for them to obey and nothing more.”

Turning, Sansa saw Black Elk and Long Claw prodding the stragglers with sticks.

“I do not remember the _akicita_ when we traveled to the winter camp.” Sansa twirled the fringe on Sandor’s tunic between her fingers.

“You slept most of the way,” Sandor rested his right hand on her belly protectively. “You were gravely wounded and given plenty of medicine.”

“What is their responsibility?” Sansa asked.

“I explained this to you earlier,” Sandor frowned. “Were you not listening?”

“Forgive me, you made such a comfortable nest for me that I fell asleep.” Sansa smiled sheepishly at him. It seemed the heavier she grew with child, the more easily tired she became.

Several passersby frowned at her but Sandor nodded understandingly .“I will tell it again, so you must use your ears this time, wife. They see that the Woope is enforced among the people.” Sandor said tersely.

“And what does that word mean?” She asked in a quieter tone, for the term was new to her and it seemed that some of the people took offense to her questions. “I have never heard it.”

“It is the word for the proper way to behave according to the customs and laws of the Lakota. It is necessary to observe it very closely while traveling in order to ensure the blessing of Wakan Tanka.” Sandor whispered into the crown of her hair. “The people think I have failed you because they heard you ask.”

“I’m sorry,” Sansa looked down sadly. “It’s seems I will never learn to be a proper Lakota woman.”

Sandor caressed her face until she looked up at him. “Never mind them. You are doing well. But lower your words, please, so they remain ours alone.”

The lingerers behind them protested the discipline by the Akicita, interrupting their conversation. Sansa turned to see the four men using sticks to hurry the laggards along through the snow drifts.

“Do you not think them somewhat harsh, husband?” Sansa whispered in his ear, the young woman understanding that such talk was not to be spoken outwardly in camp. “I just saw Long Claw strike a man in the legs.”

Frowning, Sandor tipped her face so she would meet his gaze.

“Is it not crueler still to risk the entire tribe for the sake of a few lazy people?”

“I suppose, when you put it that way.” Sansa worried her lip. “But what of the weak?”

“Does the man Long Claw struck seem weak or ill?” Sandor questioned her. “Does he look poorly fed?”

“Well, no.” Sansa looked over the tall and broad young man.

“What does he look like to you, then?” Sandor raised his brow.

“He is young and strong.” Sansa sighed. “He does not hurry because he does not want to do so. I see your point now.”

“I knew you would. You only needed help to see as we do. They do not hurry the weaker ones, only the slow. Look at him again. What comes into your mind?”

“I am wondering why he is not a warrior, given his age and obvious strength.” She frowned. “You did not choose him?”

Sandor shook his head. “His behavior just now tells you why he is not a warrior. Every moment we delay, the more likely the weather will turn dangerous. The animals will go longer without food and water. And the more likely it is that the old, the weak and sick and the children will not survive. The Akicita look after the wellbeing of the entire tribe and chastise those who would endanger them. It is important work.”

“He puts the tribe at risk, rather than protect it.” Sansa murmured thoughtfully. “I understand now.”

Sandor’s mouth twitched into a small smile. “You are as clever as you are beautiful.”

“What of the women with child?” Suddenly anxious, she squeezed his forearm. “If not for you, I would be very slow, too.”

“Their families have seen to their needs, my sweet wife. You are kind to think of them but there is no need to worry. We do not break camp until Bronn is certain that all have their needs properly met and their belongings and mounts arranged.” Sandor chuckled and kissed her forehead. “But you speak well, for they, too, are put in danger by delay.”

"I wish whites did likewise and looked after the weak and ill during travel," Sansa replied somewhat bitterly. "Things would have turned out differently for my family.”

“What do you mean?” Sandor barked out harshly, then checked his tone. “Your people leave one another?”

“In wagon trains, when someone cannot keep up, they are left behind on the prairie.” Sansa quietly explained. Hot tears burned her eyes as she spoke. She tried to look away but Sandor turned her face toward him and studied her.

“Is that how you came to be separated on the trail from the other wagons?” Anger leeched into his voice. “Bronn and I wondered about it when we found you and Healing Needle. It seemed very strange to find you alone out on the vast prairie, with only your father to protect you.”

It all came flooding back to her then: the arguments her father had made with the wagon train leaders, the shouts of the Pawnee, the confusion, the images of her family’s bodies dead in the yellow autumn grass.

When Sansa tried to answer, a short sob escaped her mouth. Several of the people walking alongside them glanced at the couple curiously.

"You will respect my wife and look away.” Sandor snarled at them, then turned his attention back to her. When Sansa remained uncommunicative, he gently gripped her chin.

“Speak to me, wife. Let me know your heart.”

“Yes,” she buried her face in his war tunic. “That is what happened to us. When our wheel broke, it took days to repair, and no matter how my father pleaded, they left us. They knew there were dangers about and they didn’t care. We had heard horrible tales about captives. I came to find out it wasn’t true. Still, it was very frightening at the time to be alone in unfamiliar country with bears and wolves and Indians.”

“What did they say to you about us?” Sandor insisted. “You have never told me.”

* “They said we would be raped over and over again,” she paused when Sandor’s face paled in fury. “They said we would be beaten and forced to work very hard. That we would have our breasts cut off and worse. They said our men would be scalped and their privates cut off as well.” Sansa sobbed harder then. “And still they left us.”

“My beloved, you must not cry over this anymore. My mother had similar fears when she came to be with the people, as did Bronn’s mother,” Sandor whispered in her ear and stroked his hand down her back soothingly, “Father never explained it fully to us. And it is true that some of the tribes would have treated you in that way. Even other Lakota chiefs might have allowed it. It was not all lies. I wish I could say that it was.” He sighed. “I have scalped many white men and cut their manhood.”

“But why?” Sansa asked brokenly. She stared into his face, but as far as she could tell, Sandor neither appeared regretful or ashamed.

“I did it to punish them for trespassing on our lands and taking what does not belong to them.” Sandor looked away, the man unable to meet her gaze. “Before you, I never gave whites deep thought. I only thought whites deserved whatever came to them.”

“Some probably do, but most settlers do not, Sandor. My father and mother and brothers did not.” Sansa answered somewhat defiantly.

“Wakan Tanka sent you to me so I would see these things through the eyes of the whites,” Sandor spoke deliberately, “so that I would understand that part of myself. When I am chief, I will forbid that treatment of women. But I cannot with the white men. You must accept this. I do not like it but I will allow it.” Sandor then lifted her hands to his lips and kissed each of her knuckles. “Do you feel the truth of my words in your heart?”

“Sandor, I know that the whites have made war on us, and that the treatment of the men is part of war. I can’t rightfully expect you to change that. But I don’t have to like it.”

When he gazed at her in return, Sansa turned, cupped his face in her hands and kissed him full on the mouth in front of everyone. ”And it doesn’t mean that I love you any less.” Quiet murmuring went up among the people, the sound made louder by the surrounding granite walls.

“No more women will be treated like that. Not in my tribe.” Sandor took her hand and rested it over his heart. “I swear it on Wakan Tanka.”

“You are wise and kind, my love.” Sansa squeezed his arm. “It just hurts, the memory of it. And I wish it could be different between the whites and the people.”

“I do too. But their hate is strong, as my hate was for them for killing my mother. When we stop, I will get the tea that White Buffalo gives me for a bad heart.” Sandor replied and rested his hand protectively on her belly. “One day, the memories will lose their bitterness for both of us.”

Nodding, she covered his hand with her own. They would have family together, build new memories, and hopefully, turn loose of the past together.

Sansa swiftly changed the subject.“Have you ever been chosen to serve as Akicita?”

“No,” Sandor shook his head. “It is the duty of the chief’s son to lead and keep on the watch for enemies. For their distinction in battle, White Buffalo and Margaery chose Black Elk, White Hawk, Gun In The Water and Long Claw for the responsibility of watching over the members of the tribe.”

“I am glad you are to stay with me. I feel safe with you.” Sansa ran her fingers through the fine hair on his massive forearm. “And I have not properly welcomed you home, husband. I will do so as soon as we make camp.”

Sandor’s eyes sparkled as he regarded her. “Rest now, wife, for I will keep you busy later.”

Sansa giggled and then closed her eyes. The motion of the animal paired with the warmth of her husband made her drowsy. Contented, Sansa relaxed in his arms and fell asleep.

* * *

“Red Wolf, rouse yourself.” Sansa awakened to Sandor disentangling himself from her grasp. When she sufficiently found her bearings, he then handed her Han’s reigns. “Go to Bronn and Black Elk.”

She started to ask what was happening, but he shook his head and held up his hand, silencing her. After kissing her hands, Sandor swung off the horse.

Chief Standing Bear turned and rode toward them.

“Son, I give them to you.” He waved his staff over his son. “Do what you must.”

Bronn quickly drew Sansa close to him. Black Elk closed in on the other side of Han, both men waving their war lances.

“What is happening?” Sansa whispered to them. Bronn’s face turned grave.

“Three Hounds has been patient but he cannot tolerate any more disrespect toward you. He will put an end to the talk now.”

"I heard nothing," Sansa answered, "I was sleeping."

Bronn nodded toward Sandor with a grin. "Well, he did."

“What are you waiting for?” Sandor roared out as he unsheathed the fighting axes at his hips. “You mean to condemn my wife under the cloak of cowardice? Here is your opportunity to face me. Speak out now.”

“Who speaks against our sister?” Bronn called out.

Black Elk moved beside him. Quickly Running Fox fell in step with her brothers and husband, brandishing her own axe.

When no one spoke, Sandor walked among the people, staring each person he passed in the face.

“Are none of you brave enough to face me?” He shouted angrily. “Will you only insult my wife behind my back? It is not the way of our people. You should be ashamed.”

The murderous look in Sandor’s eyes made Sansa want to turn away, for he was still able to frighten her even as he defended her honor. When his queries were met with silence, Sandor shook his axes and then climbed up behind her.

Shaking, Sansa leaned into him, and Sandor returned his hand to her belly. But he was not through.

“If you will not complain to my face, then remain silent as we travel,” Sandor whirled Han around in the direction of a group of Spotted Tail’s family members positioned behind them. Riding fast, he pulled up short on the reins in front of them.

"Speak now. If I hear one more whisper, I will cut out your tongues; and all you will do is whisper for the rest of your lives."

As he shouted, Sansa looked over each member curiously. Old and young alike, they stared at her with hard eyes which quickly turned fearful when faced with her husband. Did they hold her accountable for the man’s death? A chill settled over her, though Sansa did not turn away.

“If you think I am so foolish as to not know who was chattering, then you are stupid as well as cowardly. The next person to speak badly about my wife will taste my weapon.” Sandor spat at their feet and then kicked the horse in the flank.

“Did you really know it was them?” Sansa asked him after a they had rode awhile.

“I did.” Sandor’s mouth twitched as he spoke. “I would not have said so otherwise.”

Astonished, Sansa looked up at him. “How could you distinguish their voices over the noise of the tribe?”

“I have learned to identify animals from their sounds from the time I was a boy,” Sandor answered, “and the voices of people are no harder for me to recognize than that of the cry of the eagle or the shuffling of the badger.” Calmly he tipped her chin so Sansa would close her mouth. “And a leader must always recognize the sounds of his people. You must not gape at me like that.” She felt her cheeks flush hotly, and Sandor chucked.

“Tell me: do they blame me for Spotted Tail’s death?” Sansa both needed and dreaded the answer.

Shrugging, Sandor clicked his teeth. “Maybe. Sometimes families will carry the anger of one. It does not matter.”

“What do you mean?”

“That they might feel they are owed something because you were not given to Spotted Tail.” He shook his head. “But if they mean to carry on his vengeance, I will finish it once and for all.”

With that, Sandor gave a solid pat to her middle and then urged Han onward.

* * *

After a moon's turn, Bronn’s skillful leadership conveyed everyone through the pass safely. A wide open expanse lay before them at the new winter camp. Snowcapped mountains rose high above them, creating a beautiful, sharp landscape. Out of the center of the range there stood a grouping of jagged teeth-like granite peaks watching as sentries over the snow bound forest that was their new home. The sight made Sansa feel safe.

“We call the mountain Matȟó Thípila, the Bear Lodge," Sandor spoke into her ear. “It is a holy place. We are safe here. No whites can find this mountain.”

“It is very beautiful,” Sansa whispered, awestruck by the sight. “I have never seen its equal.”

Sandor nodded shortly and then began unloading their things from the travois. He insisted that she rest, and so Sansa sat nearby on a bearskin rug and watched as he swiftly erected their tipi. By the time the sun rose in the sky, Sandor had built a fire inside and all that was left was to put away their belongings.

The smell of the wood smoke in the crisp air soothed her, and Sansa drew in a deep breath with a smile.

“We will fish here,” he pointed to the watershed below. “You and the new one will have plenty of meat, I will see to that.”

Curiously, Sansa leaned down and poked at the ice with a stick. “How do you fish in ice? I-“

“Do not do that, please.” Sandor grabbed her.

His grip was too tight, and Sansa tried to wriggle away. “Let loose your hold. You are too strong.”

Sandor didn’t seem to hear her. Stunned, she looked into his face, twisted and black with dread, and for the second time, Sansa also saw fear in the fierce warrior’s eyes.

“Have you never seen ice?” Sandor growled out.

“Only small patches on still lakes. My family and I would ice skate over it.”

“What is ice skate?” He frowned at her.

Sansa had no idea how to describe the sport to him, and the hard glare with which he regarded her wasn’t making it any easier for her to come up with an explanation.

“It is a form of play,” Sansa finally offered. “If you agree, I will paint it for you. It would be easier for you to understand that way.”

“Good. Good,” he nodded after giving it some thought. “The ice on a lake is not like the kind that rests beside a water source. The water on top freezes but underneath it still lives. It can give way and become dangerous.” Sandor spoke tightly. “My son fell in this way. He was little and did not know better. Bronn grabbed him at once but it did not save him in the end. He got sick for the cold water and later died. You must be careful.”

The horror in Sandor’s face told Sansa that speaking of it brought the scene before him once more. He made no move to set her down. Without a word, Sansa wrapped her arms and legs around his shaking form and she squeezed him tightly.

“Forgive me. I didn’t mean to frighten you,” she whispered into his ruined ear. “I swear I will be more careful. I will honor your son.”

“I will teach you how to read the signs of the ice so you will know when it is safe to touch and walk on.” Sandor cleared his throat, while wetness dampened her neck. “Until I see that you have learned well, I insist you stay away from the water’s edge without me.”

Unlike most of the Lakota wives she knew, her husband had never demanded anything of her before, and given his past experience, Sansa was determined to reassure him.

“I promise I will stay away from the water unless you are with me.”

Satisfied, Sandor set her on her feet. “You are an obedient wife.”

She smiled.

“You paint the ice skate for me.”

“Yes, as soon as we finish setting our home in order.”

Sandor nodded. “Do you like painting?”

“Yes,” she answered, puzzled by his interest. “I used to paint my clothing and on silk fabric in England.”

Her husband’s eyes lit up at this.

“Good. Later I will show you how we make a **waniyetu wowapi.”

**Literally translated, a flat month. Calendar is the closest word we would use in English but it isn’t quite the same thing.

“A winter count, is that right?” Sansa clarified in English. She did not know what that was but Sandor seemed excited by the idea of teaching it to her.

“Yes. A winter count tells the important things of the year, like I painted on the tipi.” He then pointed to the decorations he depicted along the outer walls of the buffalo hides.

“There is a scene for each month. I will help you. There are special characters for it. I will teach you what to do in the dirt, and then you will paint it on a deer hide.”

When she did not reply, he added: “White Buffalo makes one for the tribe. Have you not seen her painting?”

Slowly Sansa nodded. “Yes, I did, but I did not disturb her to see what she was making. It must be very important work, for she was very determined not to be interrupted."

“Yes, it is, wife. Our winter count will be for our family alone. We will keep it safe and cared for, and our children will be taught to do so as well. It will be in our family for generations.” Sandor held her hands in his own. “This thing I ask of you is a great honor.”

Overwhelmed, she put her arms around him once more, and he held her close to him.

“Yes, Three Hounds, I would love for you to teach me,” Sansa tearfully answered. “I am honored you would entrust this to me.”

Visibly pleased, Sandor bent and kissed her hands. “Good. I would ask one more thing of you.”

“Of course,” she wiped her damp cheeks. “What is it?”

“I want you to teach me to read this book about Art-hur.” Sandor firmly placed the item into her hands. “I see there are more words on the front but Art-hur was the only one I could sound out. I want to know this book.”

“His name is Ar-thur," she enunciated for him. "He was a great warrior of my people. I would be happy to teach you to read it and I will explain anything you do not understand as we go along,” Sansa smiled up at him. “We will begin tonight.”

“I am glad,” Sandor grinned at her, “tonight we will both learn." He moved behind her and rested his hands over Sansa's waist, pulling her bottom flush against his hips.

Giggling, Sansa wiggled against him. "Yes, husband?"

"First, we love.” Sandor growled into her ear and then pulled her into the tipi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Akicita were the police that kept order. These were men who were selected for their generosity, leadership, and most of all, their bravery. These men were of the warrior societies, the elite among the men.
> 
> Crying in public was frowned upon, and Sansa being white would be considered the reason she does so in front of people. Thus, Sandor would demand people look away to give her dignity. To abandon people was considered a punishment worse than death, and unthinkable to the Lakota.
> 
> Lakota often use the word "good" as a way of praising the speaker for a good idea. So when said twice, that is to praise them.
> 
> Describing a woman as obedient was a great compliment and an expression of appreciation, not derogatory. In the Lakota language it conveys that she is a good, responsible partner and his equal as a warrior, for her obedience shows that she is willing to sacrifice her own wishes for the sake of the tribe. 
> 
> Speaking of a dead person is considered rude, and so Sandor gives Sansa a great gift in telling her about his son's death, and indicates how much he values her. He also allows her plenty of leeway in etiquette for not admonishing her for speaking of his son. 
> 
> I will go into deeper explanations of the winter count in the next chapter. 
> 
> As always, if you have any questions, feel free to ask. :D


	32. Inipi - The Rebirth

Once inside their tipi, relief overwhelmed Sandor. To be in the presence of his wife in their new home, safe, with no threats or worries to occupy his mind allowed him a sense of peace he had not experienced since before he went on the warpath. It was just the two of them now, and Sandor meant to enjoy this time with Sansa.

“Come, sit,” she patted the space beside her. “I made tea.”

Without waiting for a reply, she went about preparing his cup. The graceful movement of her body was nothing short of a wonder to Sandor, every curve a wordless testimony to Wakan Tanka’s power and beauty.

The gods were transforming the love they had made into its corporeal shape, manifesting itself in the form of their child. Captivated, he stared at her, unspeaking, until Sansa cleared her throat.

“What is it, Sandor?” She nervously giggled, raising one brow at him.

"You are beautiful."

Blushingly she lowered her gaze, a pleased smile gracing her lips.

His eyes followed Sansa as she knelt and removed his moccasins and then tenderly unwound his braid. Gently she then ran her fingers through his hair and then began drawing the comb through its length.

The feel of her cool fingers massaging his scalp brought a flush of arousal to his core. A wicked smiled formed on his lips as Sandor stilled her hands.

“Enough with tending me. Unlace your dress, Mahansani,” he groaned into her ear as he settled her on a great bear skin rug. “I want to see you, to feel your skin on mine.”

Sansa held a hand out to him, beckoning him into her arms, her cheeks flushed pink.

“Come help me with my clothing, husband.”

Sandor’s mouth pulled into a lascivious grin as she began removing her dress. After all they had enjoyed together, that she was still able to blush at his advances brought another rush of heat through his body.

Anticipation made him impatient for her. Sandor flexed his fingers as they met her naked flesh, the man willing himself to stay calm. Their lovemaking would be doubly blessed if he waited until they had the moon as their witness, but his control had met its limit, and Sandor could hold back no longer.

“I cannot wait for the moon, wife,” he lifted her out of the clothing pooled at her feet. “Let me have you now.”

“Sandor, you may always have me, day or night,” Sansa blushed while her fingers deftly worked the lacings at her hips. “But do be gentle with me; White Buffalo says we will need to mind the baby soon.”

Guilt momentarily dampened his lust for her as he dropped to his knees and freed her of the furred leggings.

“Am I not always careful with you? Tell me if I have hurt you.” Much to his annoyance, his voice rasped more than usual, giving away his anxiety.

“You have never hurt me, Sandor,” Sansa’s eyes softened. She held her arms out to him. “I used the wrong words. I should have asked that you be even more careful than usual.”

Without a word, he settled her under the furs and laid beside her.

“I have been selfish, wanting you so much and so often,” Sandor kissed her shoulder, “and I did not think we needed to be careful for a while yet.” He stroked her skin. “The new one will not be here until Wasúton Wi.” *Moon of the Harvest, which corresponds with July/August.

“Perhaps White Buffalo reminded me because, well, with your blood still heated from battle-“

“She believed I would be too rough with you,” Sandor finished for her, all the while struggling to hide his irritation with the holy woman. “I have never been rough with a woman and yet the old hens will paint me a rutting bull.”

Frowning, Sansa cupped his face. “I do not believe she meant it that way. I would have been very offended, if she did, and would never tolerate such words against you.”

Her protectiveness always pleased him, and Sandor allowed a small smile, though his mouth twitched in the corner.

“It is merely idle talk. The women do love their gossip, don’t they?” Sansa asked, needling his stomach.

“So do men,” Sandor snorted derisively. “Bronn has a taste for it, same as White Buffalo. He has always known what happens in every tipi.” Sighing, he raised his eyes to her once more. “Speak the truth to me: how do you feel? Are you very tired?”

“I feel very good, Three Hounds,” Sansa urged him closer. “I love you, and I want you.” She winked at him, the gesture causing him to laugh.

Her simple yet heartfelt declaration was all the encouragement Sandor needed. After Sansa settled back into the furs, Sandor reverently ran his hands over her body, marveling at the contrast of his skin and hers.

Though impatient to have her, Sandor could not bring himself to give into his lust at the expense of her own gratification; their lovemaking was most pleasurable when they both found completion. Her smooth flesh reminded him of the snow, and he reveled in it.

Sansa was a beauty unlike any Sandor had ever known, and he was determined to express his pleasure and joy by loving her body just as thoroughly as he did her heart.

Sandor appreciatively kissed and caressed every part of her skin, and to his gratification, Sansa heatedly yielded to his touch. His heart soared at the sounds she made as he worshipped her full breasts with his mouth and tongue.

Slowly he stroked over her belly down to where he knew he would find her wet and wanting. Settling her onto his lap, Sandor entered her gently, then rocked his hips, guiding her body with his own so that she moved with him.

Their bodies rhythmically shifted in concert until Sansa keened and arched to take him deeper. When her inner walls contracted and squeezed his manhood, Sandor heedlessly shouted out her name.

Her small nails scratched down his back as they reached completion together. Panting, Sandor thrust into Sansa one last time, drawing out his release, while his wife showered his face and neck with kisses.

“Oh!” Sansa clasped her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide with horror. “Oh, I cannot believe I forgot! Forgive me.”

“Tell me.” He had no idea what she was on about. Lazily Sandor rolled on his side and drew her flush against his chest. “What is it?”

“I have not properly welcomed you home,” Sansa knitted her brows as she turned to him. “Come, my love, lay down so that I can take care of you.”

Sandor threw his head back and laughed. “You already did. I have never received a better welcome, wife.”

Tisking, Sansa rummaged through her medicine parfleche. “I have the prescribed oils here. But I was supposed to welcome you thus before we…” Her cheeks flushed crimson.

“Before we loved?” Sandor laughed again. “Well, if possible, yes; that is true.” He raised his eyebrow at her. “But I will allow it now. You may begin.”

Shameless Sandor then threw back the furs, exposing his naked flesh to the cool air inside the tipi.

Blushing deeply once more, Sansa glanced down at his manhood and giggled.

“Perhaps I should stoke the fire first.”

“Never mind that; I will do it,” Sandor abruptly sat up, his irritation only furthering Sansa’s amusement. “You just get your oils ready for me.”

Sansa giggled once more as she carefully warmed up the liquid in her hands. When she was finished, Sandor laid back and submitted to Sansa’s attentions.

Tenderly she massaged sage and lavender oils into every inch of his skin while softly giving thanks to Wakan Tanka for his safe return. Swallowing hard, Sandor tried to remember a time when he had been so lovingly welcomed; perhaps it had been never.

Certainly his first wife had never done so. But Sansa’s thorough care, the feel of her soft hands on his body combined with the sound of her beautiful voice and sweet words moved Sandor deeply. 

Wetness burned his cheeks. Clearing his throat, Sandor absently wiped them away with the back of his hand and closed his eyes. He felt Sansa’s soft fingers stroking his face.

“Are you in pain?” She asked when he opened his eyes. “Tell me and I will help you.”

“No, no, Red Wolf, I am not hurt,” Sandor muttered, pulling away from her. “I am moved by your welcome.”

Sansa sadly studied him, her eyes questioning.

“My heart is full,” he explained. “You welcome was most beautiful. I have not had one like it before tonight.”

There were many more things Sandor wished to say, but the words caught in his throat.

“Not ever?” Sansa quietly whispered after several moments of silence.

“No.” Sandor shook his head. “This is the first.”

Sansa leaned forward and gently kissed him. Before long, their arousal blazed anew, and this time, Sansa took the lead in making love to him. No woman had ever done that before, either, and Sandor enjoyed it immensely.

Once settled under the furs together, he closed his eyes and listened to the howling wind outside and the crackling of the fire. Sansa’s tenderness filled his mind and heart, and sleep escaped him.

Before long, memories of his first wife intruded into his thoughts; it had been many moons since she last visited him and it puzzled Sandor that she would choose such a time to come to him.

“Falcon in the Sky, I welcome your vision. Say your words.” Sandor whispered into the darkness.

Undisturbed, Sansa snuggled down closer in his arms. Sandor decided he would not wake her, for interrupting dreams was a delicate matter, especially for one such as his Red Wolf.

Closing his eyes, Sandor’s mind returned to the day he was joined to Falcon in the Sky. Their marriage was arranged to bind his father’s best warrior to their family.

Neither of them had wanted the match, and in private they had discussed it at great length; but in the end, they both agreed to go along with it for the sake of the tribe.

During their union, Falcon in the Sky hid her misery well in public; in private, it was another matter. She had not welcomed his conversation or his touches. But she never denied him, dutiful as she was.

During the rare instances they came together, it was not out of love, not even once, and Sandor never deluded himself into thinking otherwise. They both had an obligation to perform toward their families and the tribe, nothing more. It had been very unpleasant for him, leaving his heart empty and aching, though his body seemed to enjoy her well enough.

Despite their infrequent coupling, Falcon in the Sky became pregnant close to the day of their wedding, and so White Buffalo declared her womb had quickened on their wedded night and proclaimed it a sign of great things for the child.

But Falcon in the Sky did not rejoice with the rest of the tribe. From that day forward, a quiet resentment grew within her along with their child, causing their home life to become unbearably strained.

Still, Sandor had cared for her in his own way. And although Wolf Cub was born out of sheer duty, their son developed a strong bond between husband and wife.

Sandor regretted that Falcon in the Sky had never been happy with him, but she had been dutiful and loyal and she had given him a fine son. And he loved the boy more than he had ever loved anyone or anything in his life.

He then recalled Falcon in the Sky used to tell him to take another wife, one that he would find joy in, and that she would be happy to care for the children.

Sandor had considered it, as years of war with the Pawnee had left their tribe short on men of a certain age for the childbearing women to wed.

But Sandor could hardy bear having one woman unable to look at him, let alone two; he was unlikely to grow any prettier, and so despite the nagging of the elders,  Sandor decided that he would take no others.

A sudden chill took hold of Sandor then, and he pulled Sansa closer to him, willing her warmth into his heart.

Eventually the tribe would expect him to take a second wife; and it was then that he realized he could never enter into another relationship out of duty again, despite the problems that may arise because of his refusal.

No, Sansa was his one and only love; Wakan Tanka had given her to him, and he would have no others. Even if death chose her first, Sandor vowed he would never take another woman to wife, for he could never love anyone as much as he loved Sansa and Little Winter Bear and he would not cheapen the gift given him by including another into their union.

Perhaps this was why Falcon in the Sky had gone away. Wakan Tanka had read his heart, and so he took her so that he could make way for Red Wolf.

It was unusual for Sandor to think of his first wife for so long, and this occurrence caused him to reason that Falcon in the Sky must have brought her memory back to him to demonstrate her approval of the match. He determined he would consult White Buffalo just to be certain.

While duty has sustained his former family, a love as pure as the first snows of winter had bound him to Sansa and Little Bear, in ways both unexpected and beautiful to Sandor. Instead of being forced into a loveless and dutiful marriage, his and Sansa’s loving union developed naturally, their relationship growing from friendship, consideration, love and acceptance.

He remained in deep thought until the shadows grew long of the walls of the tipi. When his thoughts finally faded, Sandor offered sage in front of the bundle Sansa had made for Falcon in the Sky and Wolf Cub.

“We made a beautiful son, Falcon in the Sky. I miss you, in my own way and I miss our son every day. He was the light in my heart, and in yours, too. We did not love one another, but I cared for you. You were a good, dutiful wife and mother. But you were not meant to stay, and neither was Wolf Cub – I do not know why. Reveal the truth of it to me. Protect my child with Red Wolf, I beg of you.”

Meditatively he remained in his prayers, singing softly as he removed four hot stones from the fire and placed them under the altar. Next, Sandor lit a large bundle of dried sweetgrass, carefully casting the smoke over Sansa’s sleeping form and giving special attention to her belly. Lastly he passed it over their marital bedding and then Falcon in the Sky and Wolf Cub’s belongings before returning it to the altar.

Mesmerized, Sandor stared as the orange flames licked at the sweetgrass. Suddenly a sharp gust of wind blew in under the flap, igniting the smoldering offering into a soft blaze and filling the tipi with its sweet-smelling perfume. Pleased, Sandor bowed before the altar and sang his thanksgiving song until dawn.

* * *

After much consideration, White Buffalo and Healing Needle, along with the chief and tribal elders, decided that, before the ceremony to thank Wakan Tanka was held, the principle men of the tribe would need to perform the Inipi. _The Rebirth_.”

“What does that mean?” Sansa whispered to Sandor after the announcement.

“It is a vision quest, a purification rite necessary to help the men of the tribe enter into a state of humility and to undergo spiritual rebirth.” He murmured into her hair. “The sweat lodge is central to Inipi. Prayers offered there draw on all the powers of the universe — Earth, Water, Fire and Air. Inipi is done before any major undertaking to purify the body and gain strength and power, such as before the hunt, for example. Likely White Buffalo believes this will heal the tribe of the bad medicine of the white soldiers and shield us from them in the future.”

He felt a large sigh escape Sansa, and she leaned into his arms. “Oh, Sandor, I fear this is all my fault. If the white men had not come her looking for me, this would not need to be done.”

“No,” Sandor shook his head with a frown. He tilted her chin up to him. “They are the wrong ones, not you. Say you believe me.”

She lowered her eyes. “I want to, Three Hounds...”

“But you feel responsible,” Sandor finished. “One cannot be responsible for the actions of another. You being with us has nothing to do with what the white men did; they chose their own path. And they paid for it with their lives.”

Wordlessly she assented. Sandor had much more he wanted to ask her, but White Buffalo approached then. The holy woman glanced curiously between them as she respectfully waited to be acknowledged.

“What is it?” Sandor rasped rather irritably. “We were speaking privately.”

“My prayers showed me that you should be among the men to build the sweat lodge, Three Hounds.”

Sighing, he nodded. “It is my honor. I will prepare the willow trees.”

“You will say your prayers as you work.”

“Yes.”

Sansa curiously observed the exchange but asked no questions, pleasing Sandor greatly with her good manners.

His father stood off in the distance, watching them. After White Buffalo left, he nodded toward Sandor.

With his father's approval, he explained the procedure to her, though the man feared that as a white woman, she might be incapable of fully appreciating the significance of the ceremony. Silently he asked Wakan Tanka to open her heart as he spoke.

“We use willow branches to construct the sweat lodge and then place hides over the top of them,” he began, watching her closely. “Prayers are said at each stage of the construction of a sweat lodge. When it is completed, a burning coal is brought in and sweetgrass is burned by White Buffalo to purify the lodge. The pipe is smoked and carried outside, where it is placed on the mound of earth.”

“Oh my goodness,” Sansa answered, her eyes alight with interest. “How very fascinating. May I watch your work? I wish to honor your efforts.”

Her initial response pleased Sandor greatly. “It would please me very much,” he pulled her into his arms. “I see questions in your eyes. Do you have more to ask?”

“Yes, I do, thank you,” Sansa respectfully raised his hands to her lips and kissed each of them. The people around them watched them curiously. “What happens next during the ceremony?”

“The principle men will enter the lodge and sit in a circle on sacred sage. White Buffalo will bring in the pipe and we will smoke. Then, heated rocks are placed on the center fireplace and the pipe is returned to the earth mound. Next, she will leave and the door is closed.

During the ritual, the door is opened four times to represent the four ages described by the Sacred White Buffalo Calf Woman. Do you remember the story I told you about her?”

“Yes, I enjoyed it very much and I have tried to commit it to memory,” she smiled at him. “Please, go on.”

“The fourth time, we will leave the lodge, emerging from dark to light, free from the physical world. All that is impure is left in the sweat lodge. In this way our tribe will be cleansed of the bad medicine of the whites and healed spiritually. Wakan Tanka will then protect us and shield us from the whites and our enemies in this holy place.” Sandor raised his hands toward the landscape. “After my part is finished, I will come for you. We will bathe together, and we will wear our best clothing, and adorn our hair. You will be allowed to participate in the next part of the ceremony.”

Eagerly Sansa leaned closer. “Really? How wonderful! And then what?”

Sandor could not hold back a chuckle at her obvious enthusiasm. “The entire tribe will feast, sing, dance and offer sacrifices of smoke.”

“Oh, how lovely! I cannot wait!” Sansa clapped her hands together excitedly. “I will bring our best bundles of sage and sweetgrass, husband, and make my prayers outside of the sweat lodge as I wait for you.”

Her words touched him deeply; his Red Wolf’s thrilling response was more than he could have hoped for, and he thanked the Great Spirit.

“Good, good. Your generosity honors me, and Wakan Tanka as well.”

The well of emotion brimming in his heart threated to spill over, so proud and pleased he was of his wife; Sandor knelt before her and wrapped his arms around her waist, pressing his cheek to the swell of their unborn child.

A murmur went up around them amongst the people, but Sandor did not care; his wife honored him greatly and demonstrated her love for him openly, without reservation, and he would do no less for her.

“I will come for you, wife,” Sandor whispered against her stomach. “Go, rest now.”

“As you wish,” Sansa smiled and knelt down to kiss him.

After settling her in the tipi and stoking the fire, Sandor joined the men and went to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Lakota believed that having sexual relations at night, visible to the moon, ensured the blessing of the gods and would result in children, but they did not restrict their activity. Despite being a respected member of the tribe, Sandor is still beset with the label of being brutal because of his scars and I felt it important to explore it.
> 
> Polygamy was practiced primarily to provide for women and children who were left without husbands because of war, and also was indicated when a warrior was especially prosperous. Generally this benefited the tribe and ensured many heirs. This will be explored further. As a wealthy Lakota warrior, Sandor would be expected to take another wife, but as the chief's son and heir, he would not be compelled to do so unless his father insisted. If Sansa refused, the matter would be dropped. 
> 
> Women typically were not jealous among the Lakota, but multiple wives often caused great problems among the household, leading to one of the wives returning to her family or married to another; it was her choice, and she would have the wealth she brought to the union returned to her. This was not a cause of shame or embarrassment, and neither was divorce; it would be mutually decided upon by the women involved, and not the husband, as the Lakota are a matriarchal society.
> 
> Sansa's manners in questioning Sandor before the tribe is merely a formality and indicates she respects their ways and would honor her husband. In private, they would speak far more freely, and there is nothing wrong with her learning about their religious beliefs; it is just not something the Lakota would discuss openly, not even now. I have taken great care to share details of the sweat lodge ceremony without revealing vital details. It is a ceremony that has been polluted by appropriation, and so I received the approval of my cousin before proceeding to publish this part of the story, just to be safe.
> 
> Kissing the hands is a loving gesture meant to honor their spouse as well. For Sandor to kneel and kiss her in public would be a shocking display of affection, one that the tribe would most likely disapprove of, but as the greatest warrior in the tribe, he would not be admonished. It would be considered a demonstration of his high regard for her, one that might not be appropriate for others to observe. Oddly enough, loudly enjoying sexual relations would likely incite less comment than his chaste display of affection, and such an anomaly would be attributed to Sandor being half white.
> 
> The location of the tribe in this chapter is near the base of Devil's Tower, or Matȟó Thípila ("Bear Lodge") Wyoming.
> 
> If you have any other questions, please don't hesitate to ask! Reviews are love and very much appreciated. :D Thank you for reading!


	33. Bronn and Margaery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter. This is sort of an interlude between the last chapter and the next, told from Margaery's viewpoint.

Bronn stared outside as he waited for her to get dressed. Though not so powerfully built as Sandor, Margaery enjoyed looking at him.

He was very muscular and strong, and tall as well. Outfitted in the new tunic and leggings she had painted for him, Bronn cut a striking figure. As her gaze appreciatively wandered over his form, she felt her face flush warm in memory of their most recent lovemaking.

Oblivious to her thoughts, Bronn continued to watch the celebrations. Margaery relaxed among the furs.

“Bronny, what are you doing?” Margery finally sidled up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist. “What’s out there that has your attention?” She followed his eyes toward Sansa and Sandor.

“I am watching Little Bird with my brother,” Bronn tenderly wrapped his arm around her and pulled her in front of him. “They are celebrating with the people. She is dancing."

Margaery inhaled deeply, savoring the scent of pine needles and sage on her husband before drawing away. After the sweat lodge ceremony, Bronn had taken more than usual interest in Sansa. It was beginning to annoy her.

“You should be looking at me standing here half naked in front of you, not watching your sister.” Margaery nibbled at his ear.

He laughed outright at her comment. “I watch each of you differently; you know that.”

His rich brown eyes roved over her body, the familiar heat of arousal shining within his gaze. A shiver went up her spine.

“Make haste, wife, or I might take you again.” He growled. “Get dressed.” When Margaery turned, Bronn planted a firm smack on her bottom.

Giggling, she hurriedly stepped into her new painted buckskin dress. Running Fox painted deep blue around the shoulders and bodice, then fashioned very long fringe around the hem and arms, each piece adorned with beads and shells. It was befitting a medicine woman, and was very beautiful.

Bronn had also given her two of his eagle feathers; one for the battle with the Pawnee and one for sewing Sansa's hands. Margaery loved the gifts and was very excited to wear them for all the tribe to see.

“Bedding you was my idea last time, if you recall,” she turned so he would lace the shoulders. “You look so handsome in your new tunic and breechcloth, I just couldn’t resist loving you before the celebration.” Margaery then winked at him. “And I will do so again later, you best believe. I am ravenous for you.”

“Never apologize for that.” Bronn turned toward her, the intricate beading on his tunic tinkling as he did so. “As the new one approaches, I seem to grow hungrier for you as well.”

Bronn’s prolonged, lascivious gaze brought another flush to her cheeks. The bigger she grew with child, the more he wanted her, it seemed, and the more she wanted him as well.

Briefly she wondered if he had children with his first wife. He never spoke of her. And as far as she knew, Bronn had kept none of her belongings. Margaery longed to ask him about it, but the happiness she saw in his eyes made her hesitate; she did not want to bring up sadness in her husband.

“There." Bronn moved away from her and surveyed her appearance. "You look good.”

Playfully Margaery reached up and tugged on his braid, her actions belying her somber thoughts.

“You know, whites fix their little girls’ hair like this. We call it pigtails.”

“That makes no sense. Pigs do not have hair to braid.” Bronn raised an eyebrow at her while Margaery double over. “Braids are meant for the fiercest of warriors.”

“It’s referring to the fact that the braids resemble a pig’s tail. Besides, little girls are fiercer than you realize, husband.” She gasped out as Bronn lunged forward and wrapped his arms around her.

“Are they, now?” Bronn laughed heartily along with her. Grinning, he kissed her cheek. “Come, wife, I want you to observe Little Bird. Tell me what you see.”

Sighing, Margaery shook her head. “I don’t want to watch her, Bronn – I needs get ready. What is this newfound interest in Sansa? I already know you think she’s pretty. Are you trying to make me jealous?”

Ignoring her protests, he tugged her over to the flap.

“Don’t speak foolish things. Your words about Little Bird are good, for Sansa is beautiful, yes, but she has been moving quite slowly as of late. Have you noticed?”

“Yes.” Margaery answered dully while tying the lacings on her breeches. “So?”

“She’s definitely carrying a boy.” Bronn declared with a satisfied nod. “Yes, I am certain now. Look how Little Winter Bear is growing out in front of her. Sansa carries a son.”

This was not news. Margaery and White Buffalo had decided weeks ago that Sansa was carrying a boy.

"Why do you care so much how she looks and moves, now?” Margaery leaned up and nibbled on his ear once more.

Exasperated, Bronn shook his head. “Enough with your playing. You are a medicine woman. Watch her and tell me what you see.”

Knitting her brows, Margaery watched Sansa as she danced with Sandor in the center of the circle.

“Well, while she certainly moves slower than she used to, she’s as graceful as she ever,” she huffed out. “Not like me. Are you saying I am clumsy in comparison?”

“No. You are most beautiful,” Bronn frowned and placed both hands on her belly. “And our son grows safely within you, just as Little Winter Bear grows in Sansa. We are very blessed, our family.”

“Yes,” Margaery smiled up at him, touched by his uncommonly thoughtful words. “But I feel so uncomfortable.”

“It is to be expected,” Bronn grinned and her, “White Medicine Calf is eager to come to us. Now, tell me what you see in Sansa.”

 _He is excited both he and his brother both will have sons soon,_ she realized. It was understandable, especially since he and Sandor had lost their first families, and so very cute in her opinion. Margaery decided she would humor him, and so she moved beside him and observed Sansa for a while.

A light flurry was beginning to fall outside. After several attempts at sitting, Sandor helped settle her on a fallen log. Sansa struggled to keep her balance but smiled up at him happily. He wrapped her in her wolf pelt and pressed his lips to each of her snow kissed cheeks.

“Sansa’s a bit bigger than what is normally expected at this stage of pregnancy. She has four moons yet and yet she moves as though she has only two moons left.” Margaery tilted her head in thought. “She is bigger than me, and I am one moon along further than she is. The baby is lower on her belly, too.”

“Yes! That is good wife, very good!” Bronn’s eyes lit up. "What do you think this means?"

“I think she counted her months wrong.” Margaery shrugged.

“That is what I think, too.” Fighting back a smile, Bronn looked down at his feet then, avoiding her eyes. “But it might be more than that.”

“Bronny! You have a secret!” Margaery squealed as she bounced on her feet. “You know you can’t keep a secret from me! Tell me.”

Conspiratorially Bronn glanced around them, even though they were alone in the tipi.

“Three Hounds had a vision today.”

“And? And? What was it?” Margaery impatiently prompted. “Don’t make me beg you! What was his vision?”

“Three Hounds would not say. But the last time I saw him look so happy, Little Bird had told him she was with child.”

“Oh, I cannot believe he wouldn’t tell you!” Disappointed, Margaery playfully pinched his arm. Several members of the tribe turned to look at them.

White Buffalo frowned their direction, and so the couple ducked back inside and closed the tipi flap.

“You know, you might be on to something. When I noticed Sansa getting so big, I asked White Buffalo if she thought about the possibility of twins,” Margaery’s eyes grew wide as she thought, “but she insisted twins are a very rare blessing among the people and so not worth considering.”

“I wonder if Three Hounds saw them today,” Bronn exclaimed, “he spent a very long time in prayer. Father asked him about it. He would only say that he prayed for understanding of the vision, and it returned to him in the same manner four times.”

Suddenly Bronn froze, his eyes darting back and forth. “Sandor’s mother had a twin brother who died on the plains; I remember now. That is why she was so distraught when my father found her, for she felt a part of her was missing.”

“I cannot even imagine how hard that must have been.” Margaery solemnly answered. “So twins are common in his family?”

“I do not know. But when Father and Grey Owl were waiting for Prairie Flower, they often said they hoped for twins, so it is a possibility.”

Abruptly Bronn’s handsome face fell then, and he seemed to retreat within himself.

Margaery began running her hands up and down his arms. “What troubles you, Bronny? You can tell me.”

“It was not to be. My sister did not have a twin, nor a long life. She died in her fourth winter.” Bronn lowered his eyes sadly. “She was beautiful and full of joy. She brought light to our lives. She flitted around like a butterfly.” Abruptly he stopped talking and wiped his cheeks. “Today it will be fifteen winters since her death.”

Tears blurred her vision. Margaery pulled him close, holding him to her breast as she offered soothing words under her breath. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

“The whites found Grey Owl in mourning and stole her,” he continued, his breath warm against her skin. “Sandor tracked them. He killed the white men, even though he was barely in his thirteenth winter.”

“I’m so sorry, my love,” Margaery pulled him into her embrace once more, all the while struggling to swallow the lump in her throat. “No wonder Sandor is so protective of Sansa, especially now. I imagine he will only grow more so as time passes, too.”

Bronn nodded. “He will. Very few have ever seen what he is truly capable of when his family is threatened.” Just then Spotted Tail’s family walked past their tipi. “I hope that family will not cause trouble.” Bronn commented, his eyes following them. “Three Hounds will kill them all and it will make trouble.”

“I don’t think it will come to that, Bronny,” Margaery tried to reassure him. “White Buffalo and I spoke to them earlier. They were just complaining on the trail.”

“That is what they say to women,” Bronn brought her face up to his. “But we know better, don’t we?” His normally warm timbre turned cold.

Averting her eyes, Margaery slowly nodded and squirmed in his arms, but Bronn held fast.

“Three Hounds and I are of one mind, wife. I will kill anyone who threatens you or Sansa.”

“Do not think about such things.” Margaery was so distressed, her words came out in English. “Our child will be here soon enough. You will have a new one for Prairie Flower.”

“Running Fox came in her place.”

“And what a wonderful sister she is, too. She has been so good to Sansa and me,” Margaery stroked his cheek until he smiled at her. “You mustn’t think the worst, lover.” She tweaked his chin. “Let us rejoice today.”

Bronn chuckled at her; this time, his cheeks flushed red, much to Margaery’s amusement.

“You must put away your naughty thoughts.” She whispered against his mouth, then gently tugged at his lower lip with her teeth.

“Never.” He reached his arms around her, smoothing them over her hips before cupping her bottom, squeezing her and then settling her down.

“Will Sandor tell the tribe of his visions or will he keep them to himself?”

“No. He will tell it when the Great Spirit tells him it is time.”

“What of your vision, Bronn?” Margaery searched his face. His lips were drawn into a thin line. He shifted uncomfortably.

"I have nothing to say right now of it. We will speak of it later. I need your help in understanding it.”

A shudder moved through her, though Margaery could not say why. Before she could ask him more about it, Bronn gently placed a white rabbit fur cloak over her shoulders, indicating it was time to join the tribe.

“Bronny, you know that I will be happy to help you in any way I can.” Margaery kissed his cheek and then slipped on her furred moccasins. “Will Sandor tell Sansa his visions as well?”

“Yes, when the time comes. We will stay silent until they mention it, though. No prying, do you understand?” Bronn leaned down and kissed a trail from her neck to her shoulder while his hands cupped her swollen belly, enveloping their unborn son. “Now, no more speaking of secrets. Let us go join the celebrations.”


	34. A Dream of Spring

Sandor stood on an outcropping beneath the *Bear Lodge, gazing at the massive rock formation reaching heavenward, his great bearskin cloak whipping around him in the frosty wind. It was here that Wakan Tanka had answered the prayers of three Lakota boys and raised the earth to save them from a hungry grizzly.

The animal's claw marks still scored the face of the mountain, filling all who gazed upon it with a sense of awe. The most sacred of places for Lakota, there was no better spot to pray, to receive answers to prayers and to worship.  

*Devil’s Tower, Wyoming, USA

From his vantage point Sandor beheld the vast valley below, bathed in the blush of dawn. The snow twinkled as the sun rose ever higher in the sky. It was pretty but Sandor did not enjoy it as he ought, for a bitter gust buffeted him from the peak above, chilling him to the bone. Shivering, he pulled his grizzly robe close and knelt to pray while he allowed the scathing wind to cleanse him.

A raven landed on a pine bough beside him, sending his heart to racing. Today, Sandor would find answers. He closed his eyes and drew a deep sigh, allowing his mind to open to Wakan Tanka. The sharp caw of the raven continued to pierce the morning stillness.

A great rustling stirred the air over his head, then sharp claws dug deep into his bare skin. Sandor resolutely resisted opening his eyes for fear Wakan Tanka would see his action as a lack of faith.

Raven was a bearer of magic and a harbinger of messages; surely Sandor’s answers lay nestled within the midnight wings of the great bird. Fluttering feathers brushed against his cheek and shoulder, imparting its secrets to Sandor.

At once his mind was carried back to his reading lessons with Sansa the previous night. The limited English he spoke with Sansa sounded nothing like the English in her book. Even the French title rolled thickly off his tongue. Determined, Sandor struggled to imitate the sounds Sansa made, diligently applying himself in the same manner he practiced with his weapons as a young boy. It had gone well, if not a bit slow, and overall he was well satisfied.

However, his clever Sansa understood the magic of the English book with the French name. Sandor felt he could listen to her read the French and English words all night and never tire of it. She made powerful magic as her tongue sang the foreign words with ease.

Her mystical ability left Sandor speechless while her words whispered like a song in Sandor’s ears.  He was so delighted with her gift that he immediately led Sansa to the elders and had her read for them.

Though Sansa initially balked, insisting it was nothing special, eventually she did as he bid, and the words flowed like music from her throat. Her gift astounded the elders and White Buffalo alike, and at once Sansa was declared a storyteller of the people. After prayers and dancing, she was smudged and given her the story name  _Ol Ota Thog Iyapi, Speaks Many Strange Words._

Thrilled, Sansa happily followed him back to the tipi and though the moon was high in the sky, she continued their lessons. Sandor had been tired but felt he should not contradict the inclinations of her gifts, and so he assented.

First Sansa had explained the title Le Morte d’Arthur meant The Death of Arthur. Sandor believed there must be secret medicine in the man Arthur’s death, and that is why the writer named it in the language of the French. When he said as much to Sansa, she replied that had not occurred to her and that it was certainly possible.

The man’s name was a disappointment to him,  and Sandor told her so; it held no meaning in English as far as he knew. _What sort of leader had a name which had no meaning?_ Certainly not a formidable man in his mind.

But Sansa said the man’s name meant _strong as a bear_ in a native language of England _,_ and so after some thought he decided that perhaps there were important lessons to be learned from the book.

And indeed there was, for as the evening wore on, tales of the warrior Arthur showed that he understood the way whites made war; time and again he succeeded in outwitting his enemies, even against great odds.

Though Sansa said the story was made up, Sandor listened carefully to the words in the book and meditated on their meaning. His visions had proven troubling and mysterious, which is why he had made the trek to the Bear Lodge every morning for a moon’s turn. As chief, he would need this knowledge to defeat the whites and protect the people.

The golden aspen’s quivering leaves sang with each gust. Shuddering, Sandor pulled the furs closer to him and began his prayers, beseeching Wakan Tanka for guidance. The wind blew harder.

The Great Spirit was speaking; there were words on the wind. Sandor tilted his head, trying to decipher the words.   _Son and daughter_ , the trees said. _Son and daughter._

Sansa was carrying twins. Bronn had said he and Margaery had speculated the very same but Sandor had paid them no mind; they were always making presumptions about the people.

But it was no mere guess, the trees had seen the new ones too. Their leaves rejoiced in the wind, happily dancing along the branches as they celebrated the gift the Great Spirit had given to the people, to _him_. His heart soared at their sounds.

For many seasons after his wife and son died, Sandor had wondered if he was accursed. But now, after weeks of meditation, he understood: Wakan Tanka had taken them to the other side so they would be happy. Doing so made room for Sansa and the new ones.

Wakan Tanka had made powerful medicine in him and Sansa’s lovemaking. Their future family were equal parts of both of them, a natural extension of their union formed by the gods. Never had Sandor dreamed of such richness.

With a full heart, Sandor rocked back and forth, giving himself over further to Wakan Tanka. Images appeared behind his closed lids once more, swirling and forming shapes out of deep fog, and the scene changed.

The new ones as adults materialized before him.  His daughter was a woman gifted with many wondrous achievements and powerful medicine. Beside her stood a fine tall man, muscled like a bull, with black hair, tanned skin and Sansa’s blue eyes.

He was fierce warrior, one who rode in front of all the people with many eagle feathers in his hair. Skilled in the old ways of battle, his son killed many white soldiers, including their leader, a man with long yellow hair. Sandor sought to see his face but could not make it out.

His daughter was clad in the intricately beaded dress and moccasins of a beloved wise woman, a healer with more powerful medicine than even Sansa possessed. A startlingly beautiful woman, she alone looked up and stared back at him with his own piercing grey eyes, as though she could see him from the other side. Sandor watched as she wisely assisted her brother in many treaties, and proudly nodded his approval when his son carefully listened to her counsel.

Nevertheless, Sandor saw the white men lied and connived and broke their words with impunity, causing his children great anguish. The yellow haired man cast an especially dangerous aura around his son and daughter in the vision, enveloping them in darkness.

Angrily he thrust his knife forward, but a shroud of shadows obscured his vision.

“Come and face me, Longhair! My blade thirsts for your blood!” Sandor shouted, but the man once more disappeared in the mist. “I will take your hair and wear it on my lance!”

It puzzled him, this vision, for he had killed many white soldiers. Sandor did not consider them especially threatening and there was little honor in it. They were weak and fearful, unskilled with their weapons, poorly fed, unwashed and ill. They made no war cries, only screamed in fear. Their cravenness sickened him.

This yellow haired soldier appeared no different in Sandor’s mind; in truth he looked as though he was the last of the litter, skinny and short of stature. Yet seeing Longhair near his children brought a wave of fear over him, one similar to the first rush of battle. 

The wind whispered his name. _Custer_.  Sandor had never heard such a word, not in English or Lakota. Perhaps Sansa had heard of the word and could tell him its meaning. A man accompanied by so much fear was not to be underestimated. He needed to learn as much as he could about the man so as to know how to defeat him.

After much thought, Sandor vowed he would kill every yellow haired man he encountered. It was the only way to protect his family. Sandor had never been one for scalping, but he would proudly wear the yellow scalps on his deadliest war lance, announcing to the whites, the people, and the gods that he meant to kill the man Long Hair Custer.

The raven crowed, and the clouds settled over Sandor’s eyes once more, and when they parted, he saw himself regaled as chief atop his black horse.

With his head held high, Sandor led the people far north to Grandmother’s Country* with his son at his side.  Sandor wondered why they would need to go so far north. The people would need to learn patience and endurance for such a journey. But what cleansing would they need to undergo, and why? Was there disease among the people? War with the whites? Deep snow? Hunger? Perhaps it was all of those things. The trees and the raven had no answers.

*Canada. The Lakota referred to Queen Victoria as Grandmother.

His lovely daughter next rode into his view alongside Sansa, smiling and laughing. Her bow was notched with many symbols. She spoke to her mother in the languages of the whites, just as Sansa was teaching him. Looking up, she smiled at him. She was the only one in Sandor's visions that seemed to see him. He wondered what it meant.

Many children, all laughing, danced around them while singing her praises.  Within his heart Sandor recognized them as his grandchildren. Regrettably he could not see her spouse, and he determined that such a fine woman would need the fiercest warrior in the band for her husband.

The trees shivered around him, murmuring the name of his daughter. Sandor strained to hear their words. _Waniyetu Sugmanitu Tanka._ _Winter Wolf_ , they said. A good name. Patiently he continued his prayers as he waited for the wind to speak the name Little Bear would take in manhood.

The mountain remained silent. The raven and the wind went still. The only sound Sandor could hear was his breathing. Then, in the distance he heard the sickening sound of Grandfather killing his prey.

 _Your son’s enemies will die screaming,_ the wind spoke in his ears. _Ohitika Mathohota Ozuy. Fierce Grizzly Warrior._ Smiling, Sandor rose and began to smudge himself, concluding his worship for the day.  A great sense of peace and calm came over him, soothing his weary, muddled mind. Wakan Tanka had answered his prayers, and he was relieved.

Eager to return home and share with Sansa his visions of their children, Sandor hurriedly packed his things. He decided it would be best to keep the vision of the yellow haired man to himself; for he did not want to scare his wife while she carried the new ones. He would needs consult his father and White Buffalo about him as soon as he entered camp.

As he mounted Han, Sandor stole one last glance at the horizon. A blood red sunrise stained the northern sky and valley below. _Aurore_ , Sansa had told him the word in the tongue of the French. It was just the sign Sandor had been looking for: winter was over, and the fire of the sun had finally returned to the land.


	35. Yellow Hair Custer

When Three Hounds told his father he had received an important vision, the chief insisted White Buffalo gather the warriors and elders together. The medicine woman had taken special care to arrange sacred cedar and sage bundles on the lodge fire before he began. The council listened in rapt attention, each one waiting for the invitation to speak.

When he finished, Sandor opened up the discussion. “That is all I have to say. What can I tell you?”

“I am grateful that the Great Spirit saw fit to tell you of the new ones.” Standing Bear lifted his staff. “The family and the tribe will prepare for them. It puts my mind at ease to know that the safety of the people lies with you and your children.”

The people all nodded their agreement.

Anxiously Bronn’s eyes followed him, but still he remained silent. Sandor discerned that his brother wondered if he had seen his own child in his visions, but knew it was impolite to ask at present.

“What of Black Water?” Standing Bear asked, the man also observing the quiet despair in his younger son’s demeanor.

“White Medicine Calf is with us. He is also strong and respected, but I could see no further than that about him.”

Bronn let out a long breath before he stood. “I thank you, brother, for telling us this. It eases my mind.”

Sandor nodded once and folded his arms. “Ask whatever you wish, my brother, and I will tell it.”

“Did you see more new ones for me and Healing Needle?”

“A great number. But I could not see their faces. My vision was narrowed toward my children and Yellow Hair.”

 Settling back on his heels, Bronn relaxed.

 “I hear you, my son. There is much to be grateful for, and much to be troubled over,” Standing Bear continued. “Wakan Tanka has shown you the future of the tribe and of our family. It is fear inspiring, this medicine you have made. Have you told Red Wolf?”

“I have told her about our children,” Sandor shifted on his feet. Sansa had been so excited that she jumped into his arms and cried and laughed until he carried her to the furs. He would not share that part.  He felt a flush of heat rush to his face as he recalled how eagerly she had ridden him, and the words of love and desire she whispered to him as she did so.

“She is in a delicate condition, and I do not want her to feel unsafe while she carries the new ones. I did not share much about Yellow Hair with her.” Sandor finally managed. “I did not stay with her long enough to explain, but be assured that I will discuss this with her at a more convenient time.”

Eagle Woman watched him closely, a small smile gracing her lips, and Sandor stubbornly stiffened his back in response. She and White Buffalo had seen Sansa reaching for his lacings as she pulled him into their lodge. Annoyance washed over him.

“A wise decision, Three Hounds. I will give her fortifying medicine to strengthen her before you speak of it, but not until three moons after the new ones come forth.” White Buffalo held his face in her hands. “Say that you hear my words.”

Sandor stepped closer to her and submitted. “I hear you, White Buffalo. I will do as you say.”

Frowning, he turned to the men around him. “I will tolerate no man telling this to her. And she will not hear it through the women.”

The congregants murmured their promises.

“Three Hounds, tell us more of Yellow Hair.” Black Elk rose to his feet. “What is he called in the white tongue?”

“Custer.”

Shrugging, the men glimpsed one another.

“I do not know what the word Custer means and neither does Red Wolf,” Sandor’s mouth curled into a snarl at the mere feel of the man’s name on his tongue. “Sansa said many white names tell nothing of the people who bear them.”

“Margaery has spoken the very same,” Bronn pursed his lips. “I am certain that she does not know the name either but I will ask her with your permission.”

“I welcome Healing Needle’s words.”

“Why should the name of a puny white man concern a chief as great as Standing Bear?” Gun in the Water asked quietly as he rose to his feet. “The name means nothing, and all remembrance of him and his name will end the day we kill him.”

“Your words are strong and I hear them.” Sandor puffed on his pipe, lazily blowing smoke rings while he considered the warrior’s words.

He fully intended to kill the man, but he would wait until his children came and were resilient before he made war. The tribe needed to make preparations for the challenges and dangers that lie ahead of them. He would not risk leaving the new ones or Sansa until he was certain of their safety and that of the tribe.

“Do you mean to kill him, brother?” Bronn asked carefully after Sandor remained silent.

“The man is shrouded in blood and death. I feel I should.” Sandor replied. “It is a difficult matter. The whites often hide their intentions in their words. His name may have no meaning, but Wakan Tanka anticipated our response to him and so saw fit to further warn us of his dangerous nature.”

Standing Bear waved his staff. “We will speak more of this and offer prayers.”

“Yes, Father, as much as needs be before I will make war on the Yellow Hair Custer.”

White Buffalo agreed. “Three Hounds, your words are spoken well. Your vision is clear. It would be an affront to the Great Spirit to relegate the Yellow Hair Custer into the same position of another ordinary wasicu man.”

Sandor agreed. “I hate him already. Even speaking of him brings my blood up in the manner of the first rush of battle.”

“I share your feeling, brother.” Bronn moved to the right side of him. 

Sandor offered him the pipe.

“As do I.” Black Elk took his place on the left of Sandor.

 When Bronn finished, he passed the pipe to his brother in law.

“Do not fight it, my sons. Give yourself to the vision and you will see Yellow Hair with clarity and courage.”

White Buffalo then approached Sandor, Bronn and Black and began smudging them with white sage, singing softly as she worked.

“I do not fear him.” Sandor growled out as he submitted to her ministrations.

“I know you do not. I am removing any remaining bad spirits from your memory of the vision.” White Buffalo gestured to Eagle Woman. “I give you to Red Wolf. Protect her, as she is our daughter.”

Eagle Woman stood and raised her war club. “Three Hounds, it will be my honor to protect Red Wolf from both bad spirits and men.”

“Aho Mitakuye Oyasin. All my relations.” Sandor dipped his head to her.  “Do all that you have said.”

*Sandor answers Eagle Woman in this way to acknowledge that he needs all of his family, his entire tribe, to protect and care for his wife.

Bowing, Eagle Woman immediately started to depart for Sandor and Sansa’s lodge.

"I thank you, but I wish you to hear all of the council."

She bowed.

Those assembled respectfully remained quiet, each deep in their own thoughts.

“Tell us his identifying marks.” Bronn asked after a long silence. “Perhaps they will give us clues as to the significance of the man.”

“He is wasichu: what is there to know?” Sandor barked roughly. It annoyed him that such a person instilled trepidation among his warriors even now. “He is ugly, a runt of the litter. He is soldier of the fort, weak and ill and improperly fed and yet he wears many metal decorations on his clothing. He cannot read the land or the sky or the paintings of the land, either.”

“He cannot read the tracks of his own people?” Standing Bear asked incredulously. “Only the lowest of whites cannot read tracks. They go to the little houses to learn when they are children. Is this man slow of mind?”

“I hear your words, Father, and I am inclined to think so too, excepting that in my visions he leads many soldiers. Sometimes he wears heavy grey soldier garments and fights the white war to the east. He must have some knowledge of tracks, both in the white books and their paintings of the land.”

“I do not believe even people as hard to understand as the whites would give such a man power over their soldiers.” Bronn remarked. “It is not logical. Margaery says soldiers who lead the white armies are often sent to special schools to learn the ways of war after they finish going to the little houses. They earn medals of honor at these learning places for war and knowledge.”

“For what?” Black Elk asked. “For learning what any normal man should know? It is a disgrace the white fathers leave it up to strangers to educate their children. What sort of man does not oversee such matters?”

 A snigger rippled through the group.

“The whites are difficult to understand. They send their men ignorant of the ways of war and the world out into the land. And more often than not, they die.” Gun in the Water replied. “Please continue, Three Hounds. What method of warrior is he, if he cannot even read the tracks of his own people?”

“Longhair fights poorly and with little design. He only uses the long gun.” Sandor drew in a breath to settle his anger. “He makes many mistakes in battle. The sun has turned his skin red. He wears hair above his lip. His eyes are blue, and cruel.  His white looks stand out on the prairie. He is not large, or particularly skilled, and yet darkness envelopes him and those around him. Danger surrounds my children and those of Black Water.”

“When winter ends, we should search for this Custer Yellow Hair and shoot arrows into him.” Black Elk stated. “He can’t be allowed to breathe the same air as your children, Three Hounds; nor yours, Black Water.”

“I agree.” Sandor straightened his shoulders. “We cannot let such a person pass through our lands. I have seen that even our enemies agree that Yellow Hair must be killed.”

"How do the new ones fare against him?" Standing Bear asked.

"My daughter is a strong medicine woman, and she makes powerful spells against him in the vision. My son fights him with the strength of ten grizzlies and eventually kills him. Still, Yellow hair always appears very close to her and to my son. I am at a loss as to what this means.”

“Does your son protect her?” Standing Bear scarcely disguised his anxiety. “Does he protect his mother and cousins?”

“Yes, Father. He is a man grown, a seasoned warrior, as skilled in battle as I am when he meets Custer. My son kills Yellow Hair and ends the fear of him among all the people - even our enemies.”

“We should not kill him, then, if Wakan Tanka means for your son to take his scalp.” Bronn offered. "It belongs to Little Winter Bear. It might change the fates of our families as well as the people if we interfere."

"Black Water is wise. We don't understand such formidable medicine," Eagle Woman announced as she threw a bundle of sweetgrass onto the fire. "We need to be sure of Wakan Tanka's will before we act."

 Sandor rose to his feet and held his war lance over his head.

“I will hold back from hunting Custer until I am given a sign. But I will not lay idle. I will search out whites with yellow hair throughout our lands. I will go into their stinking towns and hunt their farms and I will burn everything in my path to the ground. I will proudly wear their greasy scalps on my war lance.”

His proclamation excited the crowd and drew loud calls of support.

Sandor's voice raised of its own accord as he spoke. “I will teach the whites a new kind of fear, one that will never leave them. Their god of the burning place cannot deliver them from me. I will haunt their dreams at night and live in their shadows by day. I will instill terror in the whites who come into the territory. They will chase away any yellow haired man among them to try to save themselves from me. But they will not succeed. Wakan Tanka has shown me.”

“Your words and good and powerful, and Wakan Tanka is with you.” The chief pronounced. “We will discuss it further at the full moon.”

“Yes, Father.”

 Shrugging off his bearskin, Sandor knelt before White Buffalo, allowing her to smudge his bare body while the men deliberated quietly. Blinking back tears, he rubbed at his eyes.

“Three Hounds, what is the matter?” White Buffalo tipped his chin up to her. “Your eyes have water.”

 Scowling, Sandor twisted his head from her. “They are burning. The air is too thick in here.”

“No,” she shook her head, “it cannot be. The sacred smoking has never affected you before tonight. No, it is the vision." White Buffalo raised her arms. "It has burned away the lies of the whites, the lies they have cast before you already, and those they will yet tell you. When your tears wash free, you will never needs dread deception by them. Your vision gives you a fear inspiring power.”

Raising to his feet, Sandor pressed a sacred bundle of pine cones, tobacco, shell beads, arrowheads, and animal fetishes carved from buffalo bone securely wrapped in deer skin and grizzly fur into her arms.

“Thank you. From me and Little Bird.”

 White Buffalo smiled and patted his cheek, a tender gesture she offered him ever since his mother died. Smiling, Sandor took her hand and kissed it.

 A great din broke forth in the camp. People yelling, Eagle Woman's war cries, and over it all, wolf snarling slashed through the peaceful night air.

Panic gripped him.

"Lady!" Sandor shouted as he ran from the meeting lodge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> George Armstrong Custer was a United States Army officer and cavalry commander in the American Civil War and the American Indian Wars. To the Lakota, he is Yellow Hair, Yellow Haired Chief, Long Hair, or Long Hair Custer. 
> 
> The Battle of the Little Bighorn, known to the Lakota and other Plains Indians as the Battle of the Greasy Grass and commonly referred to as Custer's Last Stand, was an armed engagement between combined forces of the Lakota, Northern Cheyenne, and Arapaho tribes and the 7th Cavalry Regiment of the United States Army. The battle, which occurred June 25–26, 1876, near the Little Bighorn River in eastern Montana Territory, was the most prominent action of the Great Sioux War of 1876.
> 
> The fight was an overwhelming victory for the Lakota, Northern Cheyenne, and Arapaho, led by several major war leaders, including Crazy Horse and Chief Gall, inspired by the visions of Sitting Bull (Tȟatȟáŋka Íyotake). The U.S. 7th Cavalry, including the Custer Battalion, a force of 700 men led by George Armstrong Custer, suffered a major defeat. Five of the 7th Cavalry's twelve companies were annihilated; Custer was killed, as were two of his brothers, a nephew, and a brother-in-law. The total U.S. casualty count included 268 dead and 55 severely wounded (six died from their injuries later), including four Crow Indian scouts and two Pawnee Indian scouts.
> 
> Sandor would have gone to visit Sansa briefly but would leave immediately to call a meeting. The Lakota would view sharing the interpretation of the dream as paramount to the safety of the tribe, even if no immediate threat was revealed. The more people thought and prayed on the matter, the stronger the medicine made and so a multitude of counselors was very important. 
> 
> Eagle Woman is two spirit female/male, and thus would be welcome to become a warrior. She and White Buffalo have no natural born children, and so they would take it upon themselves to treat Sansa and Sandor as their own children. Since both of them had lost their mothers, it would be considered a necessity. Being an adult is no reason to no longer parent children to the Lakota, so the fact that Sansa and Sandor are grown married people would not be considered to no longer need them.
> 
> When Sandor and White Buffalo refer to Sansa's delicate condition, it is not the physical aspect of being pregnant, but the spiritual, emotional toll it takes on the mother to grow new life in the womb.


	36. Done with Fear

Sansa lengthened the buckskin hide and affixed it to the bare surface of the lodge’s floor. Prayerfully she placed dried cottonwood buds into a mortar and meticulously ground them into a brown paste. Today she would paint her dreams.

She hoped she could finish before Sandor returned. He had fashioned a beautiful carved deer horn for her to use as a stylus, and Sansa was eager to put it to use. She rolled it through her fingers, marveling at the fit for her hand before she set to work.

Painstakingly she outlined figures of her family while Sandor Three Hounds’ words replayed in her mind. Twins. A boy and a girl. She could not help but giggle and clap her hands excitedly. For Sansa also had dreamt of the new ones.

In keeping with Lakota customs, she refrained from revealing this to anyone in camp, and it was with great difficulty that she withheld it from her husband. When Sandor travelled to the Bear Lodge, Sansa spent the mornings in prayer, begging the gods to give her a sign as to when she should tell him.

Observing Sandor’s peaceful expression as he swung down off Han this morning, she realized he had received the answers he so desperately sought for his own visions. A large black raven flapped down and perched on the tipi poles as he walked toward her, cawing that the time had come for Sansa to tell him. When their eyes met, Sandor’s mouth curled into a wide smile, the expression twisting his scarred face as he did so.

“You carry two new ones, beloved,” he held out his arms to her, “Wakan Tanka has given us a son and a daughter.” So overwhelmed was she that Sansa jumped into his embrace while laughing merrily in between covering his face in kisses, much to the amusement of the people. Then she tugged him by his the lacings to follow her inside their lodge.

“Beloved, I have seen them in my dreams too,” she clapped her hands together at his widened eyes and slack jaw. “We will have twins!”

As Sansa related her own visions of their family, her fearsome husband sank to his knees, unwrapped her dress, pressed his cheek against her belly and wept without shame. It had not taken long for Sansa to join him in happy tears. Afterward, she stroked his hair and kissed him deeply while she rocked against him. He cradled her in his arms, whispering that their passionate lovemaking a fitting tribute to Wakan Tanka for blessing their union.

Smiling, Sansa sat back and admired her depiction of her dreams. A boy and a girl, standing tall and proud beside Sandor. Lady sat at her feet, while two wolf pups raced around the children’s ankles. Yes, her children would also have wolf brethren.

It was both thrilling and a bit daunting, the knowledge that she carried two babes within her. Sansa was tall of stature for a woman; her husband stood head and shoulders above everyone in the tribe excepting his father and brother; just how large were their children going to develop before they were ready to leave her womb?

Before her dreams even began, Sansa had felt fluttering and small kicking on both sides of the swell of her belly. It had concerned her, for while she knew it was normal to feel such in one spot of her abdomen, she never heard of it occurring in two areas.

When she sought out White Buffalo’s advice on the matter, she and Eagle Woman had exchanged knowing glances. Looking back on it, Sansa understood that they had read the signs as well.

“Do not eat raccoon or pheasant. You know why.” White Buffalo admonished while wrapping her in a fox robe. “Keep warm when the new one kicks.”

“As you say.”

“Three Hounds is a fine fisherman and likely catches many, but you must not eat speckled trout, little one. I know you favor them fried, but you must not eat them. And no matter the cold, you must not tie a scarf around your neck. Say you understand me.”

_*Staying warm was thought to be very important to the health of the unborn. Eating raccoon and pheasant was deemed to cause the newborn to be sickly or even die. Consuming rainbow (speckled in Lakota) trout was believed to produce large birthmarks, which was believed to correspond to blemishes on the soul. Wearing a scarf was thought to induce umbilical strangulation. White Buffalo wants Sansa to confirm that she will do as she is told, so she asks her to say that she understands her direction and gives her an opportunity to ask questions about the prescribed treatments.*_

“I hear you and obey, White Buffalo.”

“What have you been eating?” The medicine woman inquired as she gently examined Sansa’s fingernails and hair. “You are very healthy, young one. Your hair shines like the sun and has moved past your waist, and your nails are also quite pink and long.”

“Three Hounds brings home many deer and rabbits for me,” Sansa carefully responded. “He brings honeycomb for morning sickness.”

“Is it helping?”

“Yes. But I still enjoy the honey.” Sansa sheepishly looked at the women.

They both laughed.

“Suck on the comb and chew and swallow it. It is good for the new ones and will make them fearless*.”

_*Bees are considered the bravest animal next to the bear, because they will swarm a grizzly who dares raid their hive for honey, and more often than not, will chase the bear away. The Lakota believed they were the only animals to defeat Grandfather (grizzly bear). So consuming honey during pregnancy was thought to contribute to developing courage in the unborn. Sandor providing Sansa with honey demonstrates his appreciation for her carrying his child, for he bravely faces angry bees to provide her with comfort for morning sickness. He is doing his parental duty in making the unborn children brave by giving her the honey as well, and shows he takes the instruction of his babies very seriously, even while they are in the womb.*_

"He faces *Grandfather to hunt the large salmon for our meals as well. He does not eat the rainbow trout, either, or the raccoons or pheasant, though they are all plentiful.”

_*Sandor risks the strongest and fiercest of grizzly bears who have awakened from denning and starved after ending their winter fast – the males in their prime, and mother bears - at the mouth of the river to provide salmon for Sansa, rather than go downstream for the rainbow trout and avoid the bears. It is believed that Wakan Tanka would protect him and rewarded his bravery by providing him with the salmon and also would infuse the meat of the salmon with magical properties.*_

“A wise man, your husband,” Eagle Woman smiled at her. “Salmon are very good for new ones. Eat the skin, eyes and brains as well.”

“Yes, I do.” It had taken Sansa a while to brave the delicacies but soon she eagerly partook. “Three Hounds somehow manages to skin the fish in one whole piece.”

“He is a gifted hunter and fisher.” Eagle Woman smiled. “It is good luck to remove the skin whole.”

“It is?” Sansa asked.

“It means that Wakan Tanka gave the fish to him, and that they were ready to serve as food for you.”

Sansa smiled shyly. “I feel selfish, for he insists I eat the best parts from his salmon as well.”

“He is very generous and cautious.” White Buffalo handed her a plate of dried dates and fried locusts dipped in honey. “The Great Spirit blesses his self-sacrifice.”

Eagle Woman nodded. “Even when his braves gift him with food, he has been vigilant in refusing the forbidden animals so as not to accidentally cause harm to the new one.”*

 _*Sandor is frightened of losing another child, so he refuses the foods that Sansa is forbidden to eat so that she does not come in contact with them while preparing his meals._ _Even the animals his warriors would gift him with would be prepared by her, so he is protecting her there as well. The tribe would most likely consider him overly protective. But Sandor knows that his behavior would earn him the respect of the medicine woman and she would likely offer extra prayers and spells on Sansa’s behalf. A true Lakota man would not care what others thought if it meant protecting his wife and family and he would gladly face teasing to receive a greater blessing.*_

White Buffalo and Eagle Woman had fed her well that evening. Sansa wished she still had some of the locusts left, but she couldn’t resist their crunchy sweetness and had eaten all of them. Sighing, Sansa patted her belly. She was so very blessed to have such a husband, and such friends. Her mind drifted back to her father; and not for the first time, Sansa thanked him for providing her with a devoted and caring husband. She patted the great wolf reclining beside her.

Lady, her father's second gift, grew ever more protective as the days passed just as Sandor did, and she often gently nuzzled Sansa’s belly and followed her around the camp as she went about her chores. She also brought more of her kills into the tipi, laying them at Sansa’s feet whilst Sandor praised and petted her. And the wolf was foretold to bear young that would grow up with her own children. Yes, the gods had been very good to them.

Despite this, a great apprehension overshadowed the exultation in her heart. The raven’s appearance foretold creation, which Sansa believed was the birthing of the twins, and heralded that danger had passed and that good luck would follow. But the beating of its enormous wings could also mean war. Drawing a deep breath, Sansa endeavored to calm her nerves.

There had been many women who birthed in the wagon train, and since there were no doctors among the travelers, her mother often assisted the women in childbed. The Pawnee had taken her before she taught Sansa the ways of bringing children into the world, and the young woman had no idea what to expect.

Judging by the cries of labor of the pregnant women in camp, it promised to be an unpleasant affair. Even under ideal circumstances, childbearing was always a dangerous undertaking; bringing forth two babes in the wilderness promised to be fraught with difficulties.

Despite Sandor’s assurances that he had seen their children as adults, Sansa could not help but worry for their safety. Many women on the wagon train died in labor along with their babes. Those who survived often died later on, for the caravans did not stop for laboring women or sick children.

They would not risk an Indian attack for the sake of a woman with child. With no means for a proper funeral on the prairie, their families had no choice but to bury them along the trail. It saddened Sansa, for great clusters of the roughhewn white crosses dotted the plains in their stead. She shivered at the memory when she told Sandor about them.

“Is it the war between the people and the whites that the raven tells?” Sansa had buried her face into his bare chest. “Will it come before the new ones?”

“There will be no war before the babes come.” He kissed her forehead, but in his arms Sansa felt his muscles tense in response to her words. “I promise you, my wife, that both you and the babies will be safe and strong. I have seen them birthed. Bronn and Margaery’s son as well. The whole tribe will see to their care - and yours.”

Still, Sansa could not help feeling anxious. Lakota visions were not as detailed as Sandor’s and hers were; she wondered what it meant. From what she remembered of the Bible, there were many detailed prophecies within its pages, mostly foretelling war. Did her and Sandor’s dreams come from the Lord as well as Wakan Tanka? She couldn’t be certain, but she had prayed to both for their safety just the same.

"The Lord had sent Sandor and Bronn to you and Margaery, just as Wakan Tanka had sent us to save you. Neither god would mind the prayers to the other," Sandor had assured her. "It is not their way."

“But you do not know the Lord Jesus Christ, and I don’t know him as well as I should.” She had cried into his chest. Sansa's religious education had primarily been about how to avoid hell. “So how can you be certain?”

“The heart holds room for both gods.” He stated simply. “And they are the ones who made us.”

Sansa could not argue with his logic, but still she wasn’t at ease. To lessen her apprehension, Sandor asked her to teach him to read the Bible that he had found among the minister’s belongings so they both would learn the way of the Lord together. Each night for a moon’s turn, they agreed to read the Bible before bed. So far, they had learned that Jesus was a man of peace and taught others to be peaceable as well.

“See, Lord Christ does not bring war,” Sandor had whispered to her afterward. “The people who say they follow him and make war do not know their own god. You must have courage.”

The gods had given them these children, and the gods have shown them the new ones by means of dreams. _They have not yet led us astray and have protected us_. As she painted, Sansa determined that she would strengthen her faith and give thanks for the wonderful present Wakan Tanka had bestowed upon them. She refused to doubt, lest the Great Spirit or Lord Jesus change their minds about the new ones. Carefully she placed white sage, pine needles and cedar on the fire and then took special care in smudging herself and her unborn children within her.

A woman’s voice roused Sansa from her musings.

“Little one, are you inside?”

 _Eagle Woman_.

Sansa called: “Yes, Tunwicu ( _aunt_ ), please come in and sit. I can’t get up without help; forgive me.”

Grinning, Eagle Woman helped Sansa to her feet. “You grow heavier with child each day. The new one will be as big and strong as Three Hounds.”

“I hope so,” Sansa tenderly rubbed her belly. “Three Hounds has been gone a long time.”

He had left her immediately after their lovemaking, while the sun was high in the sky. He must have received the answers about his visions, or he would not have laid with her. Sandor had not taken her to the furs since the vision quest, the man insisting that refraining from lovemaking encouraged the Great Spirit to guide them. Unfortunately for Sansa, her appetite for her husband had grown right along with her belly, and she had struggled to go along with it.

“Has he told the council of our dreams?”

“Yes,” Eagle Woman kissed Sansa’s cheeks. “Two new ones for you both. A great gift! Three Hounds has made impressive magic. His warriors, the elders, and the chief all have much to discuss. That is why he delays.”

“Will you not sit and take tea?”

It unnerved her that Eagle Woman remained standing, her war club at the ready.

“No, thank you,” Eagle Woman shook her head, “I am here to protect you, for you are my daughter.”

“Thank you, but why must you protect me?” Sansa searched the warrior’s face. “Has the tribe been threatened?”

“Calm yourself,” Eagle Woman stilled Sansa’s hands. “It is my honor to do so.”

“Please, would you help me up?” Sansa struggled to get on her knees. “I need to make water.”

"I will accompany you to the edge of camp."

Growling, Lady ran toward the back of the lodge, the sudden show of ferocity startling both women.

The wolf dragged a screaming man into the tipi and threw him toward her feet, then circled around them.

“He is Lakota!” Sansa cried out. “Who are you? Why would you try to take me?”

“He is Spotted Tail’s brother,” Eagle Woman hissed. “Otaktay, _Kills Many_ , why have you come here? You should have been in the assembly.”

"I come for her." He leered at Sansa.

“Why do you wish to harm me? I am heavy with child. I have done you no harm. I have never even seen you!” Sansa demanded.

“You saw me on the day we moved to this place. Don’t lie!” 

Recognition crept into her. “You are the man that Long Bow struck.”

“I am! Three Hounds’ had his dog soldiers* beat me!”

_*Dog soldiers were bands of Cheyenne warriors. It is used as an insult to Lakota warriors.*_

“You will die for such words!” Eagle Woman shouted.

Ignoring her, the man went on. “You are a witch! You have enchanted the chief and his sons! You lay with Three Hounds, a scarred monster! You are his whore! You should have been given to my brother and then to me!”

Lady abruptly released him as he spoke.

“How dare you insult Three Hounds!” Sansa shouted. “How dare you come into our lodge!”

“We won’t hurt you.” Kills Many waved her toward him. "I am taking you with me."

Sansa was not deceived. His yellow and red face paint told her all she needed to know. “Stay away from me.”

“I will marry you by capture. I will not leave you here. Come here!” He darted toward her.

Lady grabbed him by the throat and violently thrashed the body until he fell silent.

Eagle Woman spat on his body. “Come, Red Wolf. We must go to Three Hounds.”

War cries and pounding feet drew close to the lodge.

"Oh gods, there are more coming."

Eagle Woman met her gaze. "We must go now."

Sansa knew she should be frightened but a singular searing rage burned the fear away.

She was sick of men thinking they could put their hands on her, force her to bend to their will. She was done with men who claimed they knew what was best for her, that took her choices away from her even as they promised freedom. She would not allow her children to be threatened, nor would she stand by as it happened. Sansa Red Wolf was done with fear.

“Tell me what to do, you gods,” she prayed.

“ _You are a wolf, lemoncake.”_ Her father’s voice whispered among the leaves quivering in the wind overhead. _“The Red Wolf of the Lakota.”_

“I am Red Wolf, wife of Three Hounds and mother of his children. And I am through with fear!”

Snarling, Lady responded to her cries. The massive wolf tore through the wall of the tipi and leapt onto two men, their screams drowning in the jaws of the fierce beast. In the distance, Sansa could hear the men shouting from the chief’s lodge.

_Sandor will come for me – for us._

“The wolf fights for you, young one,” Eagle Woman raised her war club and positioned herself in front of Sansa. “And so do I.”

Shouting her war cry, Eagle Woman slashed the man who moved between her and Sansa, leaving the man bleeding and sobbing at her feet.

She kicked him away and spat on him.

“Go inside, Red Wolf!”

Before she could fasten the flap, a larger warrior grabbed Eagle Woman by the hair and put a knife to her throat as he dragged her out of the tipi’s circle. Sansa grabbed her bow and quiver.


	37. Renegades

Sandor skidded to a halt when he saw Eagle Woman in front of their tipi struggling with a man. At first glance, he could not tell if he was wasicu or one of the people, for the snow clouds overhead dimmed the moonlight.

Panic choked his throat and his reason. Hastily he wiped away the beads of sweat trickling down his forward and then moved closer.

Had the white buffalo hunters dared come to steal his wife, as they had taken his mother? Logic answered his question: no, that was impossible, for it was known that whites would never dare enter a Lakota winter camp in the dead of night.

Though Sandor did not understand much about the whites, he knew that their one consistency was cowardice; if they had heard the tribe had white captives, they would not come without their soldiers from the fort.

A light snowfall drifted over the camp below. Warriors rushed out of their lodges half dressed, weapons at the ready. Camp dogs raced toward the fighters, snarling and nipping at the man fighting with Eagle Woman. 

 _My brothers have come to my aid._ Briefly Sandor closed his eyes in prayer and drew in the clean smell of the cold. _Swift as a deer. Silent as snowfall. Quick as a snake. Calm as still water. Fear cuts deeper than blades. Strong as a bear. Fierce as a wolverine. The one who fears losing has already lost. Fear cuts deeper than blades. Great Spirit, give me strength to do what is best for Sansa and the people._

Focused, Sandor shut out the snarling of the dogs, the war cries surrounding him, the cawing of the ravens above, and the fighting and shouts of the people, until only the quiet of the snowfall enveloped his senses. Sansa was safe, he sensed, and Sandor knew what had to be done. Wakan Tanka had answered his prayer.

Above him, the swathe of clouds obscuring the moonlight began to break apart, illuminating his view of the combatants as they passed overhead. Kills Many, Spotted Tail’s elder brother was the one attacking Eagle Woman. _The man dares wear the war paint of our tribe._ _He will pay dearly for it._

Several other men similarly marked milled about with their weapons at the ready, though none looked as though they knew what to do next.

Rage flashed through Sandor, blinding hot in its intensity. _The traitorous family members of Spotted Tail have plagued our family for the last time_. 

Dropping to his belly, Sandor crawled closer.

“It is Spotted Tail’s brother, Kills Many, who is holding a weapon on Eagle Woman,” Bronn appeared by his side, startling him. Sandor’s blade reached his brother's throat before he stopped short.

“Black Water, I almost killed you,” Sandor breathed out as he dropped his axe. “You must not approach me in such a way. I saw him.”

Bronn frowned. “You did? And yet you did not hear me cawing? Where you not paying attention?”

“The only bird that concerns me now is my Little Bird.” Sandor replied.

“Yes, of course. Forgive my thoughtlessness.” Bronn shook his head.

“Never mind that,” Sandor irritably cut him off. “Did you see more warrior tracks?”

“Only five sets* of men – our men, and they are renegades, not trained and seasoned.” Bronn glanced sideways at Sandor. “It is he and the others who wanted Sansa for their own.” The dread in his brother’s eyes only intensified his fury.

_*Warriors often fought in pairs of two, so Bronn actually means there are ten renegades._

“I need names.” Sandor rasped out, his fury leaving him breathless. “The names of the dead men walking.”

Bronn swallowed hard. “Red Hawk. First Born Son. He Who Is Strong. Howling Wolf and Badger are there with them too.”

“What of Sansa?” Sandor growled low. “Where is my wife? Have you seen her tracks? Have they taken her?”

“I saw Sansa’s tracks," Bronn rested his hand on Sandor's arm. "She walks of her own will. No one is carrying her or dragging her. I do not think they have her.”

“How can you be sure?” He searched his brother's face.

“She is following her lessons with me, for I saw that she placed her feet in the tracks of others.” Bronn grinned for a moment before turning serious once more. “No one but me could have read her path, let alone follow it. Little Bird is headed for the tree line. And her wolf sister is with her."

When Sandor gaped at him, he added, "Sansa is safe for now and she could not ask for a better protector than the wolf.”

“Thanks to the gods,” Sandor released a sigh, “Wakan Tanka led me to that same conclusion but it is good to hear you say it. Fine work, brother; your words have eased my mind.”

“Still, it is not safe for the new ones, this upset, nor for your wife,” Bronn drew out his weapon. “We must end this at once.”

“I mean to. I will kill all of the men responsible.” Sandor spat on the ground. “Never again will they see the sun rise.”

“As it should be.” Bronn nodded toward Eagle Woman and said: “She fights like the wolverine.”

“Father trained her himself,” Sandor grimaced as Kills Many landed a blow. “She has been a warrior for as many moons as Kills Many has been alive.”

“He is sloppy and impatient. She will take his life with ease.”

“You speak the truth. He doesn’t know how to follow through in a fight. Kills Many only has a few illegal* lessons to rely upon. Still, she’s not strong enough in hand to hand fighting.”

_*Not everyone was approved to receive warrior training. To train a man in such a manner who was not approved by the elders and other warriors was against Lakota tradition and considered an act of rebellion._

“Eagle Woman has strategy and experience on her side. Still, he is half her age and strong and larger besides. He may hurt her if we wait too long.” Bronn quietly murmured and raised his war lance.

Sandor did not relish losing Eagle Woman, but it was her duty to die protecting Sansa. If need be, she would follow through; her bravery and loyalty were well known. That is why Sandor chose her to guard his wife and new ones.

“She is a warrior and sworn to protect my wife,” Sandor hissed. “Eagle Woman will do what needs to be done. It would be an insult to deny her the blood of the man who would harm Sansa.”

“Yes, you are right.”

Cawing called both men’s attention to the ridge above them. Gun in the Water edged along the crest, bow at the ready, and then made his way toward them.

“I will end it. My aim is true.” He spoke quietly as he settled next to Sandor. “Where is your wife’s wolf?”

“I do not see her,” Sandor breathed out, “but Black Water found her tracks along with Sansa.”

“I hope the she-wolf rips Kill’s Many’s throat out.” Bronn growled low. “If she does not, I will.”

“Renegade!” Eagle Woman shouted, grappling with the knife held to her throat while pivoting on her heels. “How dare you refuse to face me? How can your men follow a coward?”

Kills Many pinned her back against his chest. His unskilled scuffling gave Eagle Woman the opportunity to strike him several times in the kidneys, but still he would not release his hold on her.

“Enough of you!” Sandor roared, stepping into the moonlight with his axes at the ready. “Where is my wife?”

“ _Yours?”_ Kills Many sneered, his bared teeth gleaming in the moonlight. “We have your wasicu whore, Masnaze Shunka! _Scarred Dog!_ ” Kills Many jerked his head to the left. “She is ours now. My men have been at her.”

“Liar!” Eagle Woman’s elbow connected with the jaw of Kills Many, causing blood and teeth to spurt forward.

A cold, black rage stormed through Sandor’s heart and body. He had to see Sansa with his own eyes. “Sansa!” He called in English. “Answer me, wife.”

Sandor’s warriors paused to listen. Silence.

“I will cut your tongue out and feed it to my wife’s wolf for your lies.” Sandor began to shake. Sansa had not answered him, nor had she revealed her hiding place. His unease grew.

“You are embarrassing yourself with your pitiful struggling.” Bronn shouted out while casting a sideways glance at his brother. “What have you done with my sister? Tell us!”

Sandor bellowed, “Where is Sansa? Answer me!”

“She escaped them, Three Hounds -she-“ Eagle Woman gagged as Kills Many tightened his grip on her throat.

 “You’re killing her,” Kills Many laid his blade at Eagle Woman’s throat. “Stay back.”

“I am ready to die,” Eagle Woman began her death song, “I will come back for you in the afterlife. I will protect Red Wolf from the Great Beyond. If you kill me, you will only make me more powerful. Do it, coward!”

When Kills Many wavered, she wretched her arm from under the man and landed her fist squarely on his jaw.  Blood sprayed forward as he reeled away from her.

The seasoned warrior kicked the side of the renegade’s knee, causing him to lose his footing. Shouting her victory cry, Eagle Woman deftly drew her blade across his throat. Then she scalped him, raising it high over her head. Blood stained the snow pink at her feet.

Lunging forward, Three Hounds buried his axe in the chest of the warrior who stepped out of hiding and then dispatched two more in his path.  Rage blinded him; his only focus was reaching the lodge.

Six renegades rushed Bronn and Sandor. As the brothers raised their weapons, bullets shattered the evening stillness. Two of the men dropped at their feet, dead.

Calmly Sansa stepped out of the shadows with Lady snarling at her feet. She was radiant in her anger, fierce and beautiful and _his_. Sandor stood in awe of her.

“I will no longer tolerate this fighting over me as though I am a horse,” Sansa declared. “I will not stand for the division in the tribe.”

The strength in her voice heartened him.  

“It displeases the Great Spirit. I belong to no one but _myself_. I _chose_ Three Hounds as my husband. I love him. No one has a right to challenge this.” Sansa calmly turned toward the rest of Spotted Tail’s renegades and carefully took aim at Red Hawk. “Put down your weapons and end to this.”

Bellowing his war cry, Red Hawk rush toward her, but before Sansa fired, the man fell. Sandor’s tomahawk nearly severed his head from his body while Eagle Woman’s arrow pierced his heart. Furiously Sandor rushed forward the man who dared threaten his wife and scalped him.

Sansa nodded at Sandor, her eyes softening as she did so. “My husband.”

He feared the strain of the attack was dangerous to her and the new ones but she showed no signs of fatigue. She held her rifle steady, and Sandor wondered if doing so would tax her body to a perilous level. Though she seemed prepared to protect him and Bronn a second time, he was determined he would be the one to keep her and their children safe.

“Only now has Red Wolf chosen to reveal herself,” Black Elk remarked. “It is good medicine.”

“Take the scalps of the dead for my daughter,” Chief Standing Bear ordered Eagle Woman, “and remove the bodies at once.”

Sandor dropped to his knees in front of Sansa.  “My beloved, you and the children are safe,” he rested his cheek against her belly, “I begged the gods to watch over you, my son and daughter, together with your mother. Now, you must not fear, nor become anxious and try to come early. I will keep you safe. You must not come early and keep your mother out of harm's way, as she has kept you.”

Sandor felt Sansa's fingers thread through his hair, soothing him.

“Carrying my brother’s children has made you fierce, Red Wolf. You honor our family.” Bronn smiled at her, though the fear in his eyes betrayed his worry. “How are you feeling?” He rested his hand on Sansa’s belly. “The new ones seem calm.”

“Yes, I suppose it has. I am just afraid that – that I could have prevented all this.” Sansa stammered, the toll of the events taking hold of her. “I would not trade for my mother’s clothing. I could not bear to part with it. But I offered nothing in return.” Tears filled her eyes.

“She is *hysterical, Three Hounds,” Eagle Woman rushed beside her. “Take her to the lodge and I will fetch White Buffalo.”

_*Sansa is not, by today's standards, hysterical. But this display of emotion would be considered highly unusual for a Lakota woman, and the logical conclusion would be that she is hysterical and in need of medical help._

“No, I am alright,” Sansa insisted, though the young woman wavered in her husband’s arms. Bronn rushed forward to steady her.

“Sansa!” Sandor lifted her into his arms. “Do not try to speak. Are you in pain?”

“I felt a cramping earlier, but don’t fret, love,” she cupped his cheek.  “I am merely tired.” Lady whined beside her.

“Rest against my chest,” Sandor murmured into the crown of her head as he took long strides toward the tipi. “White Buffalo will be here soon.”  Sighing, Sansa snuggled closer, and her eyes fluttered closed.

Carefully he settled Sansa among the furs and held her close. Lady nestled into Sansa's side.

“I will bring firewood,” Black Elk offered, averting his eyes. “Have you seen Running Fox?”

“No.” Bronn turned to Sandor, though he too cast his eyes down. “Have you?”

“No, I have not,” Sandor said quietly, "nor have I seen Healing Needle. Forget the firewood; the women will bring it. Bronn, go with Black Elk and look for them.  When you find the women, bring them to me at once."

The men nodded and took their leave. 

White Buffalo and Eagle Woman came in next.

Immediately the medicine woman began examining Sansa. "She is exhausted, as are the new ones."

"She was very upset," Eagle Woman answered. "And the rifle is heavy."

"I do not believe it is the heaviness of the weapon, but the heaviness of her heart."

"Speak plainly!" Sandor insisted. "What is wrong with her?"

"We have expected her to behave as a natural born Lakota, not as a white," White Buffalo remarked as she ground herbs into a paste, "perhaps it was wrong of us. Her way is not our way. We should not have asked Red Wolf to hold in her emotions. It is unnatural for whites, and may have strained her in ways we do not fully understand."

Puzzled, Sandor glared at her. "Have you harmed her?"

"I do not know. Not all flowers and plants thrive in the same conditions. Many considerations are made as to what is best for each one. Perhaps the same is true for different peoples. We will need to treat Red Wolf differently for her to blossom as she should from this day on. She must feel free to express her emotions and speak as often as she wishes."

Sandor rasped, "Do whatever you need to do for her. I will trade you for any supplies you need, and I will make the people treat her as she needs, not as is our custom. Sansa's health is most important. Whether or not she acts like a Lakota woman does not matter to me. I only want her healthy and happy."

Gun in the Water slowly approached with his head bowed, interrupting them. “Three Hounds, forgive me. There is to be a meeting of the elders later.”

“I knew there would be.” He shrugged disinterestedly.

“You must bring Red Wolf.” Gun in the Water fumbled with his medicine pouch while avoiding Sandor's gaze.

“Sansa had a right to protect herself and their children, none would question that.” Sandor glowered at the man, causing him to shrink back.

Sansa stirred in his arms. Sandor whispered softly to her, stroking her hair and skin until she quieted.

“No, Three Hounds. No one would dare question Red Wolf's right to protect herself, her children and you and Black Water.  But the fact is, she killed Kills Many and his family wants her brought before the chief and the elders.”

“I will not!” Sandor sputtered, enraged. “My wife has been through enough. How dare you ask this of me?” With a low snarl, Lady rose to her feet and advanced on Gun in the Water.

“I asked Gun in the Water to come to you. It is our way. It will not take long, my son.” Standing Bear moved beside him and rested his hand on Sandor’s shoulder. “We will not meet until Sansa is deemed safe by White Buffalo. We would not risk her or the new ones. Please, my son.”

Sandor relaxed under his father’s touch, and slowly drew in a deep breath through his nose. “Yes, Father, of course I will bring her. But if any man upsets her, I will cut off his nose. Sister, to me."

His father nodded and left the tipi.


	38. Changes Will Be Made

Footfall followed her as she weaved through the trees toward the wasicu two-spirit men’s lodge. The renegades assumed their movements were as quiet as the snowfall blanketing the forest. But they were wrong. They were noisier than buffalo. Running Fox stopped and raised her hand to her lips.

Healing Needle’s frightened eyes darted around them. When the sound of the crunching leaves resumed, Running Fox urged her onward. The smoke from the cabin reached her nose then. They were close to her sister’s people.

“Wasicu whore! You cannot hide from us!” The renegades shouted. “Your husband and brothers are dead! Quit your hiding!”

Healing Needle gasped but Running Fox shook her head. The distance in their voices told her that the rebels were further behind her than she originally thought.   _They are lying_. _Of course they are. They were too lazy to learn to be proper Lakota men; it was impossible for them to have defeated Three Hounds and Black Water._

“They lie.” Running Fox smirked and Healing Needle’s eyes filled with hope at her expression. “Worthless men. What kind of Lakota can’t follow two women on foot in fresh fallen snow?”

When Healing Needle wavered, Running Fox went on. “Black Water once tracked me in a blizzard when I wandered away from camp as a little one. In these conditions, he will find us with ease.” She whispered into her sister’s ear. “We are close to your brothers. Have courage.”

“We need to warn them, though.” Margaery tugged at her arm. “They won’t be expecting us in the middle of the night, let alone with armed renegades at our heels.”

“Pray to your Jesus and to Wakan Tanka,” Running Fox squeezed her hand. “You mustn’t show fear. Have faith. One last effort and we will be at the lodge of your brother and his man.”

Gunshots pierced the cold air, splintering the bark of a nearby tree, startling the women. It was fortuitous, for the noise was sure to awaken the wasicu men, as well as give away their positions.

“The gods answered our prayers.” Running Fox offered a smile to reassure her trembling sister. “Yours and mine.”

The brightening glow of lamplight of the lodge became visible from their hiding place. 

“The men have awakened. Go toward the light,” Running Fox ordered as she rose her rifle, “I will hold them off. Go on now. Hurry!”

“But what about you?” Margaery hesitated.

Running Fox knew it was unlikely that she would make it to the lodge before the renegades came upon her, but it was her duty was to protect her sister, a medicine woman of her tribe. Healing Needle, being white, would not understand nor would she obey if she knew the truth.

“I will be with you, sister,” Running Fox lied even as she smiled, “go now.”

With that Healing Needle darted off. She could run faster than any white woman Running Fox had ever seen, even heavy with new ones, and she easily reached the door before the renegades spotted her.

Healing Needle’s brother jerked open the door with his rifle at the ready, before his man puller her inside. Sighing in relief, Running Fox leaned against the cold bark. White hot pain ripped through her shoulder, sending her sprawling into the snow.

She faintly heard a scream, then men shouting. But she was ready to die, though sorry she would not get to see the children she and Black Elk were meant to bring forth. It was far more important that she had done her duty to her people and to her brother. Quietly Running Fox began singing her death song.

“You thought we wouldn’t find you?” A hoarse voice above her said. The man sounded scared.

Hysterical laughter rose into Running Fox’s throat. "Cower in front of me, rebels."

“She’s gone mad.” Another voice spoke.

Mad, no. She still had her mind. And she was angry, angry and yet glad that the men would soon meet their deaths.

Running fox rolled onto her side so she could see them. The sky above them was devoid of stars, as dark as the night. The terror in the men’s eyes amused her.

“You men are already dead. I have seen it.” She laughed ruefully. “You better hope that the white men kill you and not my brothers. Black Water is good at tortures.” Running Fox then stabbed the nearest renegade in the leg and slit his throat as soon as he fell on top of her. She continued her laughter until her head grew heavy and the faces overhead faded into the black sky.

* * *

 Wolf song surrounded the men. It made the hair on Black Water’s arms raise on end. In all his years, he never heard so many wolves singing at once. Normally he found the sounds of the forest comforting, a reminder that the gods were always nearby but this was a far different than anything he had experienced.

Had Little Bird’s pet called them to fight for her? When last he saw her, she had left the tipi and was gnawing off Kills Many’s arm, much to the dismay of the camp. Several of the warriors tried to shoo her off the body but she would not be dissuaded.  

When Spotted Tail’s relatives tried to intervene, she tore the throat out of his grandfather and snarled at anyone who came too close.

Bronn passed by directly in front of her, quietly speaking to her as he went.

“Sister I thank you for protecting Little Bird. Please let us pass so we can find the rest of the rebels. We will not try to take your prey.”

The wolf had whined and yawned at him before resuming her business.

“Grandfather has fought for Three Hounds and Little Bird before.” Black Water spoke low. “Do you think he is about as well? Will he too answer the call of the wolves?”

Bronn studied the surrounding forest for signs of the great grizzlies. They found a freshly made daybed at the base of a  large pine tree, but nothing more. spoke of the animal's presence.

“Winter is ending. Grandfather has awakened but I don’t see any indication that he is nearby.” He could not help but let out a sigh of relief after he spoke.

Black Elk did likewise.

The animals continuously talked and sang to one another across the mountainside as the continued onward, their yips and howls resonating around the men. Evergreens rustled with their movements along their path as they advanced deeper into the wood, but Bronn could not see the animals and they did not reveal themselves to him. Even a sudden barrage of gunfire did nothing to still their songs.

Bronn and Black Elk followed the sound deep into the woods. The ricochet recalled the sharp crack of thunder, making it easy for the men to track the renegades. They were foolish to make such noise when they were being hunted. Bronn didn’t know whether he was angrier at their arrogance or stupidity.

A disturbance in the snow caught Black Water’s attention.

“Brother, look,” he knelt down and fingered the depressions, “Running Fox is leading Healing Needle away from camp. The dirt is fresh. They just passed here. We are close.”

Black Elk sighed deeply, his hands squeezing the medicine bag adorning his neck as he did so. “Where would they go? It is dangerous for them to be so far away from the tribe, especially at night. There are the wolves and wolverines and – well, grandfather is about.”

“Little Bird’s pet has not stopped howling since Three Hounds carried her into the tipi. She calls her brothers and sisters to find the remaining rebels. But the men will not find the women,” Bronn answered, “Little Sister is far more skilled with weapons and she reads tracks much better than any ignorant renegade.”

He paused, lost in thought. “If I were Running Fox, I would lead Healing Needle to her brother. He was a blue coat soldier in the Great War so he can fight well enough to survive.”

“Even a white soldier can beat a renegade.” Black Elk agreed.  

“I believe he will keep the women safe.” Bronn patted the man on the back. “Keep on with your prayers.

“But my wife, she will be found by the rebels,” Black Elk choked out, all the while holding his medicine bag. “She is dutiful, my wife. She will fight to protect Healing Needle. She will die protecting Healing Needle.”

“Running Fox will fight, yes; but she will not die. Three Hounds and I taught her well. And my brother saw her in his vision of the future. If the renegades so much as lay a hand on her head, we will kill them all.” Bronn hissed. He turned Black Elk’s face to meet his eyes. “My father, Three Hounds, you and I. We will kill them _all_.”

* * *

When Sansa awakened, she discovered Sandor laying on top of her with his ear against breast, his heavily muscled body curled protectively around her own. Sansa stifled a giggle, for he really did seem like an enormous dog positioned across her.

Glinting metal caught her attention out of the corner of her eye. She turned to see that Sandor held a Bowie knife in the hand resting near her head, her husband clenching and unclenching the handle as the gunfire continued far into the distance.

A sharp tremor rolled through her body and Sandor gripped her tighter in response.

“Are the rebels still fighting with the warriors?”

“No. We are safe. It is out of the camp, wife.” Sandor’s warm breath warmed her as he spoke through gritted teeth. “Bronn and Black Elk will end it.”

Suddenly he rose.

“Inunpa Mnimhael, gli.” _Gun in the Water, come_.” Sandor called. “Tȟawíču puza. _My wife is hungry_.”

“How did you know?” Sansa sat up.

“Your stomach told me,” he smiled briefly, though his grey eyes betrayed his worry. “You must eat and not talk.”

She nodded.

Gun in the Water came into the tipi carrying flatbread, dried berries, smoked buffalo ribs and tea on a tray.

“Eagle Woman prepared it for you, Three Hounds. She wishes to see Red Wolf as soon as she is able.”

Sandor rummaged through a nearby basket until he found a beaded leather belt.

“Give this to her. I will go to her as soon as Little Bird eats.”

Gun in the Water lowered his eyes and left the tipi. His subservient demeanor disconcerted her.

“Why won’t anyone look at me?” Sansa asked. “Do they blame me for what happened? I know I should have traded for my mother’s clothes but I never meant to offend-“

“NO!” Sandor shouted before drawing a deep breath to calm his anger. “No, wife. You owed Spotted Tail nothing. Say you understand me.”

“Yes, I do.” She fingered the flatbread in front of her. “But why?”

“Your mother’s items belonged to you.” Sandor’s voice tremored. “I should have killed him for wanting to keep them. That is where the disrespect started.”

“But Spotted Tail touched them. He claimed them for himself. They belonged to him –didn’t they?”

“The clothes belong to your mother and then passed to you. If Spotted Tail did not know who the clothing belonged to, it would be a different matter. But none of that has to do with the rebellion.” Sandor knelt before her and took her hands into his. “If you were born a Lakota woman, he would have never dared ask such a thing.”

Sansa knitted her brows together but kept her questions to herself.

Sandor knelt before her. “Ask anything of me.”

“You didn’t say why the people won’t look at me.” Sansa whispered, tears burning her eyes as she spoke. “And where is Lady?”

“Your wolf is sitting just outside the camp singing. She stayed by your side until you awakened and then punished the bodies of the men who attacked you.”

Another shiver worked across her skin. “And the people – why don’t they look at me or talk to me directly?”

“Wife, it is the shame of the people that anyone would rebel against the chief. The people treated Spotted Tail and his brothers as their own family members. For many seasons they fed them, protected them, educated them, and this is how they turned out. They owed it to the people to protect them and behave honorably. But Spotted Tail and his brother’s failed. The people carry the shame and embarrassment of the behavior of the rebels.”

Sansa nodded understandingly.

“Sansa, do you see? Those men raised their weapons against the son and daughter of the father of the tribe. You are the daughter of the chief and the wife of their future chief and the sister of the camp crier.”

He took her hands. “Those men spoke of outraging _you_ , a woman carrying the new ones of the chief and his son in front of all the people. The tribe has been fractured by hate. If they hate you for being white, then they hate me and Bronn as well."

When Sansa interrupted, he held up his hand.

"The people cannot tolerate this behavior and not make war on us. They know it, and are ashamed - ashamed to see your distress while you are heavy with the new ones of the people. As well they should be.”

Swallowing hard, it took Sansa several moments to answer Sandor.

“Oh. I did not look it that way. I thought it was because I would not give away my mother’s clothes.”

“It will be many moons before anyone dares look into your eyes again.” Sandor took her face into his hands, his own eyes glittering with fury though his voice remained steady. “Our children’s lives were threatened. They are threatened still.”

He rested his hands on her belly next. “You were threatened and made to run away from your own home to hide. While in camp.” His voice began to shake. “Your own life is at risk still.”

Sandor moved away from her then and raised the Bowie knife. “I took this off the last man who threatened your life, along with his scalp. And I will not forget what was done here today. Neither will Lady.”

Trembling, Sansa nodded, her tears spilling down over her cheeks. His words moved her. She and Sandor were mahasani, one flesh, and he would act on it amongst the people. It both frightened and heartened her.

“Shh, no tears,” Sandor took her into his arms, “You did nothing wrong. I will keep you safe. And this will all end tonight. Now, you must eat. Come.”

After Sansa ate her fill, she laid back among the furs and patted her belly.

“Are you feeling calm?” Sandor studied her intently. “Are the new ones happy?”

“Yes, much more so now.” Sansa smiled up at him, though heavy grief welled within her. “Despite what White Buffalo and the rest of the camp believes, I am not weaker because I am white.” Her words ended bitterly.

“That is not what she meant.” Sandor settled beside her. “White Buffalo believes that it was wrong of the people, her, and your own family, to expect you and Healing Needle to behave as Lakota."

"I don't understand."

"You are a whole person just as you are. You do not need to act like someone else. It is the same for Healing Needle even though she is a medicine woman. I read to White Buffalo a passage from your holy bible, that your god made all men equal. She sees now that it goes against your creator to be made to act like someone you are not. It is unnatural.”

“So White Buffalo has come to the conclusion that it might make me ill to hold in my grief and my feelings all the time?” Sansa asked, disbelieving. "Because of the words you read in the Bible?"

“Yes,” Sandor nodded, “it is your holy book. And I agree. You need to behave as you feel. You must not hold back but do what comes naturally to you, as all creatures roaming the forest do - just as Lady does. Black Water and father agree with us, as does Eagle Woman.”

“But the people won’t like it. They won't understand.” Sansa folded her hands uncertainly. “Even when I tried to behave as a Lakota, they were never happy with me. I fear that I have shamed you. Will it not cause more trouble?”

“You leave them to me. I will read the tracks of the holy book to them so they will see that your ways must be respected. Changes must be made, it is time.” 

Sandor bent down and kissed her. “All of the tribe’s nonsense about wasicu  emboldened the renegades to act. Father believes he should have stopped the tribe when they similarly treated his wives. He will make White Buffalo's words into law. Conformity made his wives outsiders, my mother and Bronn’s mother.  It has made you feel unwelcome and has taxed your health. It has made Healing Needle angry much of the time. And above all else, it has made you both sad.”

Overwhelmed, Sansa began to cry in earnest.

“You have spilled too many tears tonight, wife.” Sandor took her into his arms and pulled her against his chest. When Sansa quieted, he added, “You want to know what else the medicine woman told me while you slept?”

The mischievous twinkle in his eyes sparked Sansa’s curiosity. “Tell me.”

“She believes that we need to lie together more often as husband and wife.” Innocently Sandor looked away from her and stared at the ceiling of the tipi. She could see the smile threatening his mouth.

“She does?” Sansa giggled, snuggling up closer to him. “Why, pray tell?”

“More love will heal your heart. It will mend the bad things you have endured in your mind and body. And my seed will give you my strength.” Sandor’s voice was muffled by his nuzzling into her neck. “So we must love each other more often. Every day even.”

She was deeply touched by his words.

“Well, we can’t risk ignoring her advice.” Sansa laughed as she pulled the furs over them.

A scratching at the flap drew their attention.

“What is it now?” Sandor bellowed. “Leave me to my wife!”

“Three Hounds, you and Red Wolf are invited to the meeting tent,” Gun in the Water called out. “Is your wife well?”

“Yes, I am better.” Sansa replied, disentangling herself from Sandor’s embrace. “We will come in just a moment.”

“Black Water and Black Elk have returned.” Gun in the Water answered.

Sandor frowned and opened the flap. “Enter.”

“What of Healing Needle? And Running Fox?” Sansa asked as soon as the warrior settled on the mat.

Gun in the Water paused.

“Answer her!” Sandor commanded.

“It would be better if you saw for yourselves.”

“Wife, get my ceremonial tunic and paint," Sandor arranged his talismen and weapons before him. "Brother, help me prepare.”


	39. Free Your Heart

A loud whipping echoed through the camp. The people, however, were silent. Distantly Sansa also picked up the sound of tearing hide and Lady’s growls.

“What is that noise?” Sansa shivered. The whipping became louder, setting her teeth on edge.

“Bronn is punishing the rebels.” Gun in the Water answered matter-of-factly. “It is his responsibility to do so in front of the tribe. Your wolf is punishing them too.”

“More is to come, wife.” Sandor growled low.

 _Lady. She's tearing_ \- Sansa suddenly became dizzy.  She could see Sandor watching her out of the corner of his eye as Gun in the Water assisted with his appearance.

“Wife, are you well?” Sandor was by her side, his hands smoothing over her back.

“I am still nervous from the attack.” Sansa wrung her hands.

“Eagle Woman will help you prepare.” He kissed her cheek. “Undress, please.”

Hesitantly she unlaced the shoulders of her dress. Sansa had not adjusted to the way the men and women bathed together with the children.

Though many men cast her appraising looks when she moved about the camp, not one took such liberties as she bathed. There was no privacy among the tribe when it came to such matters as bathing and dressing and nursing children, the people regarding them as yet another necessary chore.

It was so unlike her upbringing, where only her mother had ever seen her naked in the bath when she was a child. It was just one more thing to which she had yet to acclimate herself. It seemed like she would never fully fit in with the tribe, that a part of her would always resist their customs.

Humiliation brought tears to Sansa’s eyes as she stepped out of her leggings. The chill in the room stiffened her nipples and caused the hair on her arms to stand.  Swallowing hard, she struggled to speak.  

“Three Hounds, she is hurt. Would it not be better to let her rest?” Sansa turned to him, her face flushing red at his appraisal.

Sandor’s eyes followed over her heated cheeks, meandering over her bare body and then returned to her eyes. His manhood stiffened in his lap.

“The baby is bringing many tears to your eyes, love. Just relax and let Eagle Woman do her work.”

Quickly she held up her best dresses to cover herself while casting a nervous glance toward Gun in the Water.

The man politely ignored them and slipped Sandor’s breastplate over his chest. He waved him away and came towards her.

“Beautiful dove.” Sandor grinned devilishly as he helped her gather her clothing. “You fill my heart.”

“Sandor, it isn’t the baby that is causing distress,” she blushed under his gaze, “I am concerned for Eagle Woman.”

“Eagle Woman has been tended, bathed and readied. And now she will help you do likewise,” Sandor nodded toward the painted buckskin dress Sansa held up for his approval. “You are a kind little bird but do not trouble yourself. She will rest when you do.”

Gun in the Water moved behind Sandor and continued braiding his hair, the man not wavering from the task of readying her husband.

Eagle Woman entered then.

“Daughter, take away those garments.” She jerked the dresses out of Sansa’s hands, leaving her standing completely nude in the middle of the lodge. 

“But Gun in the Water -“ Sansa helplessly gestured toward the man as she snatched back her dress. “I needs stay covered.”

“He will not help you. It is my privilege to serve you and I will not hand it over to another. I will smudge and oil you now.” Eagle Woman lit the sage.

“No, I didn’t mean that I wanted him to help me!” Sansa snapped, her face and chest flushing. “I - among whites, only our mothers see us completely bare. And once we are grown, only our husbands do so.” Suddenly the walls of the tipi felt as though they were closing in on her.

Gun in the Water and Eagle Woman glanced at one another but neither dared speak.

“Whites are ashamed of their bodies.” Sandor turned so that Gun in the Water faced away from Sansa.         

“They should be. They don’t bathe. They are dirty; they smell. They don’t care for their skin or their nails. They don’t wash their hair.” Gun in the Water replied. “What healthy minded person does not care for their own flesh?”

“It is – it is our custom to hide our bodies.” Sansa sputtered out. She never thought of it as shame until Sandor voiced it. While she admitted he spoke the truth, Sansa had no intention of submitting to foregoing all of her clothing with Gun in the Water in the room. Stubbornly she clung to her garment while glaring at Sandor.

Her husband turned serious and gestured toward the warrior. “Reassure her.”

“You are my sister,” Gun in the Water addressed Sansa, though he kept his eyes on Sandor. “I would not dare look upon you without honor. It is unthinkable to do so. I would never disrespect you, the wife of Three Hounds. I would cut out my own eyes before I allowed it. It is a trust of family.” He flushed as he spoke.

“I do not question your honor, Gun in the Water,” Sansa drew a deep breath. “I am honored to have such a brother as you. Forgive me, I did not mean to say that you would treat me poorly; it is only that our customs are so very different and I have not adjusted yet.”

Tears welled in her eyes. His words reassured her, but this display of nudity in front of others was the last straw in an already difficult day for Sansa.

“Daughter, shhh, you need not explain." Eagle Woman placed a blanket over her shoulders.

As Sansa submitted to her bath, she choked down her embarrassment, instead focusing Sandor’s preparations.

Gun in the Water’s devotion was something to admire. He meticulously scrubbed her husband’s chest, face and upper arms, smudging his skin and then putting on his grizzly necklace and arm bands.

Next, he used bear grease to spike a large fan of hair toward the crown of Sandor’s head on which to display a large spray of eagle feathers.  Then he set to painting Sandor’s face. Sansa marveled at his skill.

“Do my sisters live?” Sandor rasped, disturbing her reverie.

“They live.” Gun in the Water daubed red paint under Sandor’s eyes. “Be still.”

“And the new ones of Black Water?”

“White Buffalo believes they are safe.”

Sandor let out a long breath, and Sansa did likewise, a great heaviness lifting from her chest.

Eagle Woman glanced between her and Sandor and silently nudged Sansa to step into buckskin dress and leggings.

They were beautiful, dyed indigo and bejeweled with porcupine quills. Next the woman slipped beaded moccasins on her feet and then wrapped Sansa’s braids in thick red fox fur.

Finally she placed silver earrings in the holes Sandor had pierced in Sansa’s ears. When satisfied, she placed rawhide, turquoise and foxtail bracelets on her arms before leading her to the back of the lodge.

Smiling, she turned Sansa toward the polished metal they used as a mirror. “You are beautiful, my daughter.”

Sansa immediately took the woman by the shoulders and rested her forehead against hers. “Thank you, dearest auntie, for protecting me. I cannot thank you enough for all you have done for Three Hounds and me. Wakan Tanka’s blessing upon you.”

It felt good to be held by a woman. Eagle Woman’s affection brought tears to her eyes. Sansa missed her mother so very much.

“Shh, dear child,” Eagle Woman kissed each of Sansa’s cheeks, “it is my honor to protect you. You are the wife of the greatest warrior our people have ever known.”

Sansa knew Eagle Woman believed her words. Still, it did not set well that so many were suffering to protect her.

“But you are wounded and there has been much blood spilled-“

“It is a mark of courage, to be bloodied in battle,” Eagle Woman shushed her once more, “you must rejoice in it.”

Sansa’s eyes fell to the bandages on her friend.  “I – I am not certain I am able to see it that way just yet.”

“In time you will. All things in time.” Eagle Woman watched as Sansa returned to studying Sandor’s preparations. “It is ceremonial, what Gun in the Water is doing for Three Hounds.”

“I do not understand.”

“It is Three Hound’s sacred responsibility to defend your honor as he does your person. He takes it seriously, as does Gun in the Water. It is an honor to prepare him for this duty.”

“What will the elders ask of me?” Sansa shivered at the thought of being the focus of the attention of the most important men in the tribe. Tears began flowing freely down her cheeks.

Frowning, Sandor commanded, “Everyone outside, now!”

After lacing the flap, he knelt before her. “Why are you crying, wife? Has the pain returned?”

“No.” Sansa stubbornly wiped her face.

Sandor stood and gently dabbed her cheeks with a rabbit tail* “Tell me what troubles you.”

*rabbit tails were used to apply paint, wash the face and dry tears.

“Everything, Sandor – everything!” Sansa huffed over to the furs and sat. “I am tired of being expected to act like a Lakota, no matter how upset I am.”

He gaped at her.

“I love being your wife, Mahansani, I do – but I cannot take any more of this!” Sansa waved her hands toward the flap. “I don’t wish to be naked in front of anyone but you. I don’t want to be fought over anymore. I don’t want to wait here while you discuss me with the elders. I don’t want to feel unsafe in my own home, I want to be able to speak English and not be looked at with suspicion – I am just so very tired of it all! Do you know how hard it is to think in one language and speak another when I am frightened or upset?”

“I am sorry, wife.” Sandor took her hands in his own. “Say the word and I will take you away from here if being among the people upsets you.” His eyes were troubled but he held her gaze, willing her to feel his devotion. “I will do anything to make sure you feel safe and loved.”

Guilt welled within her. “I do feel loved. And we cannot leave; you are to be the next chief.”

“My father is not dead, Sansa,” Sandor squeezed her close to him, “if you are unhappy, we will go to one of your towns until the time comes for me to return to the people. Or we will cross the great grey water and go to Grandmother’s Country* for a visit.” He searched her face for clues to her thoughts. *England

With a sigh, Sansa took his face in her hands. “I don’t want to leave the people. But I am tired of being looked at as not quite Lakota and not quite white. I just want to be safe and for our children to be safe.”

Sandor started to interrupt but Sansa held up her hand to him, stilling his words. “There is no place in this world for me Sandor, nowhere for me to fit in and be accepted for who I am.

Among the whites, I am a traitor, a sinner deserving of the burning place. No one would allow us to live in town; no one would sell us goods or allow our children to go to school.  And here, everything comes with the caveat that I am white. I am looked at with curiosity and wariness. Why can’t I just be accepted as Sansa?”

“I know of what you speak, my wife. It was the same for my mother,” Sandor answered quietly, “and for Black Water’s mother. It caused them much unhappiness. It has caused you much unhappiness as well.”

Sansa softened her tone, “They must have been very strong women – stronger than I am. Maybe they learned to accept it over time, but I know now that I cannot. I came from a large family where I was loved, not viewed as an oddity! And I miss that feeling, Sandor. I miss the feeling of belonging, of being trusted and cherished.”

“How long have you felt like this?” Sandor’s jaw twitched.

“Since you made me your wife in truth. I –I thought things would be better once it was known we were coupled.” Sansa sighed deeply.

“Hear my words.” Sandor roared suddenly, clutching her upper arms. His eyes were wild. “What the tribe thinks of you is not important to me. I do not consider them when dealing with you and the new ones. _You_ are what is important to me - you, and what you want. Do you hear me? Only our marriage matters, our family. But you must tell me what you need so that I can provide it for you! I cannot do that if you hold everything close to your heart!”

Sandor bit his lower lip, as if he had said too much. Schooling his expression, Sandor let go of her and began pacing the room.

Sansa recognized fear in his eyes – fear that she would leave him.

She began shaking.

“You cannot force them to accept me, Sandor,” Sansa’s eyes filled. “And you can’t kill everyone who vexes me.”

“Yes I can. I can and I will.” Sandor crossed his arms and glared. “But I am not speaking of killing. I am speaking of what is between us as husband and wife. You must tell me your feelings, your needs. You hold everything close to your heart and you rarely reveal yourself to me. And your resentment grows while your heart is weighed down.”

“The elders are ready.” Gun in the Water interrupted.

“My wife is distressed,” Sandor stepped closer to Sansa, holding his arms out to her. “They will have to wait.”

The man nodded and left.

“Sandor, I am not going to leave you,” Sansa stepped into his embrace and held him tight. “I do not regret marrying you. I love you with all my heart. But we must find a way together to make our family safe and happy,” her voice quivered. “You ask what I need. I need my family, those who have died. I miss them so. I am so close to giving birth to our child and I have no one from my own blood to help me. I need – I need my mother and my sister! I grieve for them!”

Sansa finally allowed herself to give in to her sadness. Sobbing, she clutched her belly and rocked back and forth.

Outside, Lady howled low.

“If I could bring them back to you, I would, wife.” Sandor’s rough voice whispered into her ear as he cradled her in his arms. “We did not find your sister. Did she leave before you came to the prairie?”

“My sister lives, Sandor – she left before we came out here. I fear I will never see her again.” Sansa sobbed. “She is lost to me. I am alone. The last Stark.”

"I am with you." Sandor kissed her forehead and then each one of her cheeks. “We will speak more of this. If you are well enough, we must go to Father.”

Sansa dried her cheeks and nodded. “Yes, Sandor. I am ready.”

He untied the flap.

Eagle Woman rushed inside, petting Sansa’s hair and arms and whispering comforting words.

White Buffalo followed with smoking white sage and began smudging her. The warm scent soothed Sansa’s frayed nerves, and she inhaled deeply.

"Your heart will heal, now that you have freed it."

Sansa nodded and squeezed the medicine woman's hand.

“I will speak for you, if you wish.” Sandor held his arm out to her.

“I – I’m not sure how to speak my heart to them.” Sansa answered.

Her husband took her hand. “You will know once you are inside. The spirits will lead you.”

“I pray that it is so.”

“They only want to hear you tell what happened.” Eagle Woman rested her hands on Sansa’s shoulders. “Tell the truth as you always have. They will believe you, daughter.”

Absently Sansa agreed. “Spotted Tail’s family members know what the renegades did to me; that they wanted to kill me. Why do they question my actions?”

“You are wasicu, it is different for you.” Eagle Woman shrugged.

“I do not wish to hear that reasoning anymore, do you hear my words? Her skin color is not to be brought up.” Sandor glared at her.

Eagle Woman bowed her head and nodded.

He turned to Sansa. “I will keep your honor. No one will question your words.”

Exasperated, Sansa shook her head.  “I cannot be anyone other than who I am: Sansa Red Wolf, wife of Three Hounds. I will not apologize, nor make excuses for my behavior. I have done nothing wrong.”

Proudly Sandor looked between the women. “Your words are good. The new one has made you even fiercer than before.”

“Yes, Three Hounds speaks truly. But you are different, Red Wolf.” Eagle Woman went on. “Wasicu is not only the color of your skin but your upbringing, your beliefs. It must be taken into consideration.”

“Will I ever be accepted as Sansa Red Wolf in all respects or will I always be seen as an outsider?” Sansa asked the woman bitterly. “If Three Hounds accepts me, why can’t the rest of the tribe?”

“I do not know.” Eagle Woman reached out toward Sansa. “People are suspicious of what they don’t understand.” She and White Buffalo exchanged glances.

Sansa pulled away from her. She was altogether fed up with the tribe vacillating between regarding her as a respected member of the tribe and the peculiar wasicu woman who wed their future chief.

Frustrated, Sansa abruptly exited the tipi. She could hear the soft whispers of the women and her husband inside, which annoyed her further.

Lady was patiently waiting for her outside. Her muzzle was covered in blood, as were her forepaws.

“You bloodied our enemies too, didn’t you, girl?” Sansa scratched between her eyes."You too have been honored."

The wolf butted her hand to move on to her ears. The rhythm of petting Lady settled Sansa’s nerves and steadied her mood.

Replaying their conversation gave Sansa pause, once her anger abated, and led her to a plan. The gods had indeed answered her prayers.

When Sandor finished speaking with Eagle Woman and White Buffalo, Sansa took his arm and allowed him to lead her to the meeting lodge.

“Do not fear. I will not let them upset you. I will kill the man who does.” Sandor knelt down and kissed her cheeks. The warriors outside the tent tactfully averted their eyes.

“I will speak for myself, Sandor” Sansa whispered in English. “I know what to say, just as you said I would.”

“My brave Little Bird,” he answered in kind and then kissed her forehead before opening the flap of the meeting tent.


	40. A Time for Change

The atmosphere in the lodge was thickly perfumed with sage and wood smoke.  The eyes of everyone inside turned toward them as they entered, their voices hushed.  Most of Sandor’s men were present, flanking the chief. After looking over the assembly, Sandor gently set Sansa down on a thick buffalo blanket.

Her cheeks had lost their usual rosy hue, but Sansa still was breathtakingly beautiful in the fine clothing and jewelry he had gifted her, and the elders looked her over appreciatively.  Sandor specifically chose each item to speak his love and respect for her and he was pleased to see it had not gone unnoticed.

 _They should be ashamed_ , _looking at her now,_ Sandor snarled to himself. _If they had listened and allowed Black Water to handle the rebels properly on the journey, this never would have happened_.

Sansa’s muscles stiffened beneath his palm and she began trembling as he moved away from her. Fury rolled through him, but Sandor gently squeezed her, his face pulling into a taut smile from the effort of reining in his emotions.

“If you do not feel like talking, I will take you back to our lodge.” He cast his eyes about, daring anyone to challenge him.

“No, Three Hounds, I will talk to them,” she squeezed his hands and then kissed each one. The feel of her soft lips on his skin brought a sense of calmness over him; it was short lived as Sandor turned to his father.

“Father, I regret making you wait for us,” Sansa began, “the new one is restless and my feet are injured.”

“No, daughter, you must not make apologies. You did just as I wished.” The chief smiled at her and then kissed her on each cheek. “You needs rest.”

“You are injured, Father.” Searing anger bubbled into his throat. He glared toward Gun in the Water, who merely shrugged _. Father is a great war chief; how did the mongrel rebels manage to strike him?_

“Yes, my son. Do not frown; it is not serious.” Standing Bear rested a hand on his shoulder, squeezing him gently but firmly in a way that Sandor knew meant he should be still. “The rebels reached my lodge and we fought. My wives are dealing with them at present.”

Sandor nodded bleakly, satisfaction settling over him.

Black Bird was taken captive and spent time in a Comanche renegade camp when she was small. The men did not sell her, for their leader enjoyed her storytelling and lively dancing. While there, she learned many tortures from the old women that she passed on to Many Moons and Running Fox. _The rebels deserve what the women do to them. I will do far worse to those who hunted Sansa._

 “Sit.” Standing Bear gestured to the spot beside him, shaking him out of his dark musings.

Sansa moved sideways to make room for him, but Sandor would have none of it; she would be in his arms, where he could keep her safe. He settled her between his thighs and rested his hands on his child. A few of the elders cast a disapproving glance at him, but Sandor did not care. His wife and child would not be any further than arm’s length for this meeting. He brandished his axe across her belly, daring anyone to comment.

“Do you have words to speak to me or will you just cast your looks?” Sandor shouted when the men did not look away. “Who means to challenge my behavior? Do so and be done with it, but you will cast no more looks at my wife. If you upset her, I will cut out your eyes.”

Gun in the Water and Black Elk moved beside him.

“Three Hounds, my love, it isn’t necessary-“ Sansa whispered to him, her large blue eyes pleading with him. She began shaking in earnest in his arms.

“You are safe,” he whispered into her ear, “tell me you want to leave, and we will do so.”

She patted his leg and shook her head. “No, I needs speak.”

“No one challenges you, my son.” Standing Bear looked around.

All present murmured their agreement.

“Are you well, daughter?” The chief knelt and took Sansa’s hand and kissed it. She smiled tremulously.

“Yes, Father."

He raised his brow.

"My legs are wounded. The new one is very restless. I am also nervous from the battle still.” Her voice sounded weak in Sandor’s ears.

“Her legs are deeply cut from running over the jagged rock.” Sandor spat out angrily.

“White Buffalo, bring her tea for pain.” Standing Bear ordered, sending the medicine woman scurrying around the tipi. “You will rest soon, daughter.”

Once more Sandor searched for the rebels but did not see the men, nor their families. _Where could they be?_

“Margaery and Running Fox are likewise wounded.” The chief answered tersely. “They have received their medicine.”

“Are you able to answer questions?” White Buffalo asked as she handed her a steaming cup.

“Yes.”

“Then rise.”

Sandor crossed his arms over his chest, his axe at the ready. “Father, I do not wish to offend but I must say no. She will remain seated, for the safety of the new one.”

“You speak well, son.” Standing Bear agreed.

“What can I tell you today?” Sansa asked calmly.

“We only wish to know the names of the men who came to your lodge to attack you.”

The oldest members of the tribe moved closer to Sansa in order to hear her better.

“Allow me to make the talk, Father, so that everyone may hear me.” Sansa smiled. *Sansa does so to convey respect to the elderly ones among her listeners.

Pleased, Standing Bear vigorously nodded.

“Kills Many. Red Hawk. First Born Son. He Who Is Strong. Howling Wolf. Badger.” Sansa carefully signed each name as she spoke it aloud, using the hand language Sandor had taught her. Her silver bracelets caught the light of the fire as she did so.

To Sandor, her own unique way of making hand talk was beautiful and akin to her accent in speaking verbally. Her movements were graceful, fluid, mesmerizing – almost like a dance.  She had caught on to it easily and often signed to him when they were at home just for the practice, which pleased him greatly.

The elders must have agreed with his assessment, for they one and all nodded approvingly to the chief.

“Your manners are beautiful, daughter,” Two Kettles balanced on his war lance as he rose to his feet, “Many here appreciate your words.”

Sansa smiled and bowed her head to him.

“Do you have more words to share?”

“Yes.” she nervously glanced at him, and Sandor nodded encouragingly. “I became Lakota when Three Hounds married me, is that so?”

“Yes, of course.” White Buffalo answered.

“But I have not been treated as Lakota, at least not in the same way as Three Hounds. The people always note my skin color to explain my emotions and behavior. I am white, it is true, but I am also Lakota.”

Two Kettles nodded. “You should be given all the consideration of any Lakota woman. It is our way.”

All of the people nodded and shook their lances.

“I thank you for this.” Sansa smiled at the old man. “After my chosing Three Hounds as my true husband, my decision was not respected amongst some of the people. My choice was questioned. Many viewed me available to wed. Perhaps this is what led to the renegades to believing it safe to mistreate me and my will to be ignored.”

“You must be respected, regardless. Your choice is all that matters. The men knew that.” Bronn said.

Sansa continued signing. “Then I would ask that my skin color not be mentioned anymore in regards to my behavior so that this can be avoided in the future.” She respectfully cast her eyes downward. “I wish to be treated as Lakota, nothing more or less. I am proud to be the wife of Three Hounds, and proud to be part of the tribe.”

“Your words will be followed. And you will never be mistreated again!” Sandor shouted, the man no longer able to contain himself. “You are safe.”

The men shouted their approval.

“Daughter, we will do as you say. We should have done so from the beginning. My wives went through a similar suffering. We should have learned better. We will make amends.”

The elders offered their agreement.  

“That is all I have to say.” The chief waved his war lance.

“The men you named, Red Wolf, are the very men we found in the den of your wolf.” Iron Wolf rose to his feet. “What was left of them. You will be safe.”

Sansa swallowed hard. “She came to protect me. I do not know where she went afterward. She allowed you into the den?” Her hands quivered as she signed.

“She allowed Black Water and Black Elk; no one else.”

Bronn entered the lodge then and moved beside Sandor. He was covered in a fine sheen of sweat, wiping his bloodied hands on a towel as he moved beside his brother.

“Lady saved Healing Needle and Running Fox. Our family is grateful for her protection.”

Black Elk murmured his agreement, as did many others present.

“The wolf came to your lodge, my son?” Standing Bear asked. “We did not hear her in camp.”

“No, she came to the lodge of Healing Needle’s brother and his mate.” Black Water opened the tent flap and gestured for the white men to enter.

Margaery's brother Loras and his mate Renly apprehensively stepped into the lodge and only after much coaxing did they assent to stand beside Bronn and Black Elk. The men looked pale but both bowed respectfully to the chief and the elders. _Their manners are good_ , Sandor noted _, I will reward them later._

“Keep your rifles,” Sandor ordered when Gun in the Water tried to relieve them of their weapons. “You are welcome here. Speak truly.”

“Running Fox led Margaery to our homestead to escape the rebel Indians.” Loras nervously began. “We heard a commotion outside and when we opened the door, there was my sister, all cut up from running through the woods. A man was standing over Running Fox, but she kicked him and then stabbed him when he fell.”

“The white men brought my wife inside their lodge just in time. Margaery is not hurt beyond her feet. The new one is calm.” Bronn added in a shaky voice.

Sandor pulled Sansa closer. “What of Running Fox?”

“The rebels overtook her and beat her. She fought like a wild cat, stabbed one and killed another.  They subdued her by breaking her collar,” Black Elk’s voice shook as he spoke. “Then Sansa’s wolf came. She attacked the man and then tore him to pieces. Running Fox was covered in the blood of the man who hurt her. Then the wolf returned to camp and finished off the rest of the men.” He pitched forward a large bloody sack. “This is what remains of the rebels, after the wolf feasted.”

“Is Running Fox badly hurt?” Sansa wrung her hands as her eyes fell on the fresh scalps and genitals on his war lance. To her credit, she did not turn away.

“She is hurt but far too enraged to feel the pain that I know is present,” Black Elk answered Sansa sadly. “The medicine is allowing her to continue her tortures. She will not rest until she punishes the rebels.”

Sansa paled further at his words. Sandor removed his long knife and placed it in Black Elk’s hands. “For you, brother. I will see my sister after.”

He nodded.

Bronn knelt before Sansa, bearing a long war lance dripping in fresh scalps and genitals. “I took these for you, sister.”

Sansa impulsively threw her arms around him. “Thank you, brother. You honor me.” Tears shined on her cheeks, and Bronn carefully wiped each away with his thumbs.

*her tears of happiness belong to Bronn, since he brought her the scalps. It honors him for her to shed them in front of the assembly, for it is a testament to his bravery, his choosing well for his family and her love for him.

Sandor watched with pride as Sansa examined each scalp with care and complimented Bronn before everyone.

“Are you pleased, daughter?” The chief turned to Sansa. *Since Sansa was the first person attacked, it is her place to decree whether she is satisfied with the punishment meted out (in this case, by her wolf).

“Yes. It is powerful medicine.” She swayed on her feet. “Forgive me, I am a bit shaky.” Bronn at once steadied her in his arms.

“Father, please allow my wife to sit.” Sandor asked as he settled her back on the blanket.

“Yes, yes, naturally,” the chief distractedly replied as he opened the sack. Grimacing, he recoiled and then offered it to the other elders, who murmured low as they looked on. All of the men nodded, well pleased. “The wolf did well.”

When the elders finished their appraisals, Sandor stepped forward and examined the grisly contents, a satisfied smirk curling on his mouth as he did so.  The weight of his father’s eyes were upon him, but Sandor did nothing to stifle his elation. There was little left of the men. Lady gave his wife justice.

“I will feed Lady a portion from my table at every evening meal from this day forward.”

 “As will I.” Bronn spat on the bag and then sat down on the other side of Sansa. “Father, there is more you and the elders must hear.”

Sandor turned to his brother sharply. “What is it, brother?”

Bronn nodded toward Loras Tyrell. “Tell the elders what more you know of these rebels.”

Loras removed his hat and stepped forward. “These men, the ones that came for Margaery, we’ve seen them before at the soldier fort when we were waiting for word about her whereabouts.”

“These men?” Sandor kicked the bag hard enough that a bone within cracked loudly. “You saw these Lakota men at the soldier fort?”

“That’s not possible,” Iron Wolf shook his head, “no one here would go to the soldier fort. The chief did not give the order for anyone to go there.”

“Renegades do not care for orders. They do what they wish.” Two Kettles replied.

“The whites think all Indians look the same,” Gun in the Water stood up, “they don’t know who they saw.”

“Wait. Let the white men finish,” Bronn insisted. “Their words are important.”

“Yes. I saw them,” Loras fingered the brim of his hat. “I recognize their clothing and jewelry. They don’t dress like the other Indians at the fort. And these men have long hair, where the others had shaved sides and a spikey middle.”

Bronn gritted his teeth. “The white men are describing the Pawnee scouts.” He related his words in English.

“Yes, Pawnee, that’s them. Anyway, these men looked different and so caught our attention. They had a mountain man translate their words.”

“What did they tell the soldiers?” Sandor asked.

“That they wanted a reward for a white woman they found,” Renly spoke up. “A red headed woman with blue eyes. Beautiful, they said. A rich Easterner named Joffrey Baratheon was looking for her and he paid them fifty dollars gold coin. They gave directions to them to find her in the high country. When we heard it, we paid to come along with the soldiers first to see if we could find Margaery.”

Shouting erupted in the tipi among the elders. His blade yearned for blood, but Sandor held fast.

“They found us. Where is this gold?” Black Elk asked. “The rebels hounded Red Wolf over a few scraps of her mother’s clothing long after the soldiers came. Men with gold do not do such things.”

“They are renegades.” White Buffalo countered. “They are no longer men.”

Rage flooded Sandor’s senses. Every part of his body felt as though he were on fire. Squeezing his eyes closed, he raised his hand.

“Enough! My ears are hurting. And you are upsetting my wife. Calmness.” He pointed his axe to Loras. “Continue.”

Loras and Renly exchanged nervous glances. “They bought weapons and paid some to the mountain men and soldiers as bribes. That is how we found you. We - we thought you knew this.”

“You need not fear us, brothers,” Sandor struggled to calm his voice. “Our ways are not the white way but we will not hurt you. Tell us, where did they send the soldiers?”

“Up in the high country, right below a ridge line.” Renly answered. “Next to a tributary where we found you.”

“How could the men have left the camp and no one notice?” Two Kettles asked.

“They said they went to hunt. One man cannot tell another what to do.” Bronn shrugged. “And we had no reason not to believe them.”

“Did they return with meat?” Two Kettles pressed further. “I did not see them share.”

“Are we to become like the whites, wary of the people’s movements?” White Buffalo stood. “Our ways cannot become polluted with distrust. That is why the renegades must die.”

“Your words are good. The survivors must die. No soldier has ever found our winter camp, and not even the mountain men dared come to us there.” Chief Standing Bear rubbed his chin. “The rebels who betrayed my son and daughter led the soldiers to them. Now they will remember our sacred place, as will our enemies, and we will not be safe. I did not keep the tribe safe.”

Sandor choked down his surprise.

“The matter of the rebel attack is settled,” the chief pronounced after much deliberation, “however, that this happened while I am chief is of grave concern.”

Shouting filled the lodge until the chief rose. “We must decide what this means for our people and the best course of action. We will discuss this more later. That is all I have to say.”

Bronn’s eyes widened as he and Sandor stared at their father. It was known that one day, every great chief needed to step down, but neither man expected it to be so soon. Still, the decision had yet to be made, and Sandor struggled not to allow his emotions to get ahead of him. For her part, Sansa sat quietly in his arms, his lovely wife unaware of what would soon unfold. He squeezed her close, silently praying that she would be strong enough for what was to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Lakota are a matriarchal society, and Sandor's dressing in his best clothing to represent Sansa is very important, as is his providing her with the finest clothing, jewelry, furs, etc. It proves he values her and takes the very best care of her. For the future chief of the tribe, it is essential in earning the respect of the elders of the tribe, the idea being that the way he treats his wife is indicative of the way he would care for the people. 
> 
> The Lakota back then chose war chiefs, and Sandor being considered the future chief is not dependant on him being the son of the current chief but on his battle prowess, ferocity, bravery, and his victories.
> 
> *Hand Talk, and what is today more broadly known as Plains Indian Sign Language (PISL) Prior to contact with Europeans, North American Native peoples were not a unified culture, but hundreds of different cultures and tribes, each with its own political organization, belief system and language. When speakers of one language met those of another, whether in trade, councils or conflict, they communicated in Hand Talk. It was also a respectful form of communication for the elderly who lost their hearing (rather than shouting) and preserved the dignity of the hearing impaired.
> 
> As a member of the Akicita, Bronn's punishment of the renegades is considered part of keeping law and order among the tribe and different from the tortures that the women would inflict on them. The scalps and genitals were taken to shame the dead in the afterlife and ensure they would never have offspring there, not as torture.
> 
> Because women lost the most during wars (husbands, fathers, male relatives, children, they were taken captive, and often raped or sold) and so they were given the privilege of punishing captives by torture. Torture was considered an art, to be able to inflict the most suffering while preserving the victim alive. So Black Bird and Running Fox would be revered in the tribe for their abilities. I chose not to go into details as to what exactly they were doing to the rebels but if anyone wants to know more, please let me know and I will answer honestly.
> 
> Sansa had both the right and responsibility to assert herself and so she used her opportunity before the elders to demand respect and to be treated according to her wishes. She would be well respected among the elders for doing so and seen as a credit to her husband and family for setting a good example.


End file.
